


Just what the doctor ordered

by WrappedUp



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Chaotic Bisexual Sirius Black, Eventual Happy Ending, Grown up Wolfstar, Like REALLY TALL, M/M, Older Remus Lupin - Freeform, POV Sirius Black, Pining, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, Sweet, Tall Remus Lupin, Wine-drinking Wolfstar, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:07:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 96,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26677921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WrappedUp/pseuds/WrappedUp
Summary: This is the story of how Sirius Black finds a dog.Except, it's not really that.This is the story of how Sirius Black finds a dog and meets a skilled veterinary surgeon with crinkly eyes and dimples in his cheeks.Except, that's not really it either.This is the story of how Sirius black finds a dog, meets a skilled veterinary surgeon with crinkly eyes and dimples in his cheeks, and grows the fuck up (at least a little bit).
Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Marlene McKinnon/Dorcas Meadowes, Mary Macdonald/Peter Pettigrew, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 510
Kudos: 888
Collections: finished





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have two bitey cats and end up going to the vets a lot. So I wrote a story about what if Remus Lupin was a sexy vet to get me through the thought of a winter in lockdown. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Petra would have teased him and called this a quarter life crisis, probably. Except that Sirius Black is fairly sure a future centenarian, he is not. Hopefully, at the ripe old age of twenty-five, he is not yet at the mid-life point, but as he guiltily takes a sip of the cheap Polish lager he hastily picked up at the corner shop on the way home from work, he thinks briefly that he wouldn’t rule it out. Besides, it’s not a _crisis_ so much as a series of mini crises that, knowing his luck, may well continue until he has some sort of little breakdown. 

Of course, he wouldn’t be the first in the Black family to have a breakdown; a little wobble, as it were. Une _dépression_ , his mother calls it, but then she has always had a flair for the dramatic. And with the _dépression_ usually comes a high profile admission to The Priory with a strategic ‘leak’ to the tabloids that whichever relative it is has finally succumbed to their cocaine addiction. It’s infinitely preferable than admitting publicly that anyone from the Black Dynasty could succumb to something so trite, so _human_ , so very mundane as mental illness. 

Sirius doesn’t think he’s there, yet. But he does spend an inordinate amount of time pondering the futility of his existence and wondering whether anyone would notice if he failed to show up to work one day, or didn’t come back from one of his business trips to such sunny climes as Bognor Regis or Grimsby. 

He thinks this is all part and parcel of being a moderately young man plonked onto a strange little planet that seems to be speeding up and hurtling through space and time without his permission. But he doesn’t quite know who to ask whether his feelings are universal. He can hear it now: _“Pete, mate, do you ever just think that maybe all of this is pointless; that all of our choices are predetermined and it doesn’t actually matter one jot what we say or who we shag because our existence is, ultimately, just an exhausting exercise in futility, given that we are but a grain of sand in the uncaring, arid, brutal desert of life?”_ Peter would just gaze gormlessly at him and offer him the crappy little broken crisps at the bottom of his packet of Doritos. James would probably throw something in the vague direction of his head and tell him to have a cigarette and behave. Lily would tut at him and try to distract him with a chocolate Hobnob.

He’ll probably keep the thought to himself. 

He takes a huge gulp of lukewarm beer and switches the channel to something a little more palatable than the news, which is reporting a famine he would rather not know about in a country whose name he can’t pronounce. He vows to dig deeper into his pockets the next time he is stopped by a spotty teen in the street, adorned in an Oxfam tabard. 

The children with their bulging eyes are replaced in no time by cosmetically enhanced, orange-tinted women in tiny little bikinis, sprawled on a beach which is purportedly located on a _Love Island_ , though Sirius thinks it looks suspiciously like that place in Spain where he went with Marlene six months ago and she found, not love, but a nasty urinary tract infection after showering in water that was suspiciously murky. 

One of the women is attractive, if you squint a little, and the bloke she is draped over has abs that could cut steel. He momentarily considers having a perfunctory wank, but it feels like a fair amount of effort, and he doesn’t really want Lily coming home and interrupting him again. She would say that he was perfectly able to wank in the privacy of his room, and he supposes that’s true, but again. Effort. 

He should move out soon, but James would rather have him under his own roof where he can keep an eye on him, and their house is around the corner from work, which suits him just fine, for now. Most days, he enjoys the company, especially when Pete comes around and they spend the evening dicking around like they are all still in school.

He wishes, for a moment, that he were on this _Love Island_. It looks warm, at least, and this March is frigid and damp, and he hasn’t touched another human since Autumn: he’s so single he thinks he might have forgotten how sex works; hopes to God that he hasn’t. 

Sirius has been in love, once. But it feels like an inordinately long time ago, now. It’s almost two years since Petra left him for a load of old dirt and pots, or _archaeology_ as she called it. The irony of losing his one true love to a particularly amorous dig in... Petra of all places, and a man named Karl who, Sirius has gleaned from some casual internet stalking on a slightly obsessive level, is pretty much the Scottish, ginger version of Indiana Jones, is not lost on him. But he supposes that if it hadn’t been Karl, there would have been another, ready to sweep her off her feet with their little paintbrush thing and that practical tool belt that he almost certainly keeps on when he takes her to bed. 

Sirius understands. He never was good enough for her, really. Not if he thinks about it rationally. And while he was unerringly faithful, he had never been able to satisfy that enduring part of her that desperately wanted to go out with an actual adult human who picked his socks up off the floor and remembered to trim his pubic hair. So when she callously dumped him for a man who may or may not have been able to wield a whip with expert precision, he didn’t really blame her. He probably would have done the same, had their positions been reversed. 

And it’s not like some good hasn’t come from their breakup. For one, Sirius is not sure he would have ever given himself the permission to... experiment, had Petra not torn his little heart out and left him bereft. 

And after two years of experimentation, he has realised several important things. The major discovery is that he is definitely _not_ straight, but blissfully bisexual and an enthusiastic lover of all. He has always been adventurous, but until his little journey, figured before that what he got up to with Fabian Prewett in the showers at boarding school seven, eight and even nine years before didn’t strictly count. Because everyone does that in high school, don’t they?

There are other, more minor, discoveries, too. He has discovered that he is a shockingly competent seller of hops; the best, in fact. So the fact that he somehow secured a job as a hop merchant is lucky, really. 

He has also discovered, from his vast array of tattoos, and a touch of casual bondage, that he has a remarkably high pain threshold (and really, really likes a touch of casual bondage). 

Finally, and perhaps most importantly, he has discovered a fabulous little café, not three minutes away, that serves the most perfect cup of coffee in Bristol, perhaps in the whole United Kingdom. And if the barista looks a little bit like Russell Tovey, has a peachy bottom and sometimes slips him an extra shot of espresso with a wink, Sirius has only really half noticed. 

He doesn’t really see his family, now. There is a mutual agreement that some distance between them works well, triggered by that time when he and James set off a huge fireworks display at his uncle Alphard’s wake. Alphard would have loved it but his family have assured him several times that’s not the point, that he should have known not to jeopardise his father’s impeccable reputation, that this really was the final straw this time. 

Even Regulus is giving him a wide berth right now, but Sirius does deserve that one, he reckons, given the Lucius Malfoy Incident. And sure, shagging Luscious Lucius on the trampoline at Regulus’s twenty-first birthday garden party had not been his classiest moment, but he was only human, and Malfoy had _those lips_. It would have been fine had he not told everyone about it afterwards, the snake. He thinks Regulus will forgive him, but he’ll have to go in for some sort of grand gesture if he wants to speed the process along. He’ll give it some thought tomorrow. 

He hears a set of keys jangle in the door and he picks his head up off the sofa to get a better whiff of what he strongly suspects is his favourite Chinese takeaway. He sees a flash of red as Lily walks past the open doorway towards the kitchen and begins to lay out plates. 

“I got the Szechuan chicken, just for you,” she shouts, dropping what sounds like a ladle on the floor and cursing. 

Sirius grins. He had forgotten about dinner, actually, but his stomach wakes up with a grumble to the delicious smells of the Orient (or as good a replacement as they can hope to find in Clifton). He heaves himself off the sofa and follows his nose to the kitchen where Lily is stood with her back to him in her severely tailored suit, dishing out three portions which steam enticingly. 

“It’s not too late to leave him for me, you know,” he quips. 

She picks up a tea towel and smacks him on the bum. “You’re too much like hard work,” she laughs, eyes full of fondness. 

Back at school, Sirius thought Lily was a bit of a swot, actually. And when James started splitting his time between the two of them in sixth form, his jealousy threatened to consume him. Luckily, Sirius and Lily had sorted their shit out and realised that they were soulmates, really, in that way that you can only be if you don’t want to have sex and are united by the love of an impish, scruffy Indian boy with myopia and an aggressive obsession with reggae music. Now Lily is his family, too. And he loves her with all the ferocity he can muster. 

“He’s just round the block grabbing a bottle of wine,” she explains, gesturing for Sirius to take a plate. 

Sirius fishes three glasses from the cupboard and lays them out expectantly, just as James comes clattering through the door. 

“Bonjour, mes amours!” James slaps a bottle onto the table and presses a gentle hand to the small of his wife’s back. 

“Bonsoir, ma pompe à chiasse,” Sirius coos, pressing a kiss to his best friend’s forehead and handing him a large glass of wine. 

James bats him away with a limp hand. “Yes, yes. Mangetout,” he grumbles, ever frustrated by Sirius’s flawless French and dreamy accent which, combined with his outrageously good looks, had always meant that he got further with the ladies at school than the less smooth (but probably much more fundamentally decent) James. Not that any of it matters, now that James has got his girl, and the girl in question genuinely likes him back; a concept that was once dismissed by all of them as a hopeless pipedream. 

On bad days, Sirius experiences some ugly emotions which he has decided probably stem from a jealousy, of sorts. It’s not usually an issue, but just sometimes when Lily falls asleep on the sofa and James reverently scoops her up to take her to bed, Sirius’s heart squeezes uncomfortably in his chest. He hasn’t yet been able to work out whether, in this scenario, he yearns to be the scooper or the scoopee; to look after someone, or be looked after, but if he thinks about it too hard, his head starts to hurt, so he tries not to examine his feelings on the matter too closely. 

James polishes off his glass of wine in record time. Sirius thinks it’s only fair that he replenish the supply for him without delay. James lets out a soft hum in thanks. “So what’s got your face all scrunchy?” he asks, scooping a huge helping of beef in black bean into his mouth. 

“Scrunchy?” Sirius asks, letting a little huff of air out through his nose. 

“Yes, you know. Sullen. Pensive.” 

“I’m not sure anyone has ever called me pensive before.” 

“Well there’s a first time for everything. What’s got you thinking, kiddo?” 

“Right, just because it’s you, I’m going to let the ‘kiddo’ slide,” Sirius laughs, properly this time. “Nothing’s up. I’m absolutely fine, just... you know, a bit tired. I went to Wales today. There was traffic and the DJ on the radio played Come on Eileen three times. It was draining.” 

Lily surveys him over the glasses she wears when she’s too tired for contacts. “I don’t buy it. You’re definitely off-colour. What’s happened, Black?” 

What he would like to tell her is that absolutely nothing has happened, and that’s exactly what the problem is: nothing is changing in his vanilla little life, and he feels, churlishly, like everyone is growing up and moving on without him. 

He settles for a half truth. “I’m not sleeping. It happens sometimes. It’ll pass.” He looks right into her big green eyes, brimming with concern. “Okay, I think I am in a state of ennui,” he sighs. “Like a beat poet, or a fifties housewife.” 

Lily sniggers a little, before she can stop herself. “Ennui,” she nods. “Right, okay. And why do we think this is?” 

Sirius shrugs his shoulders like a petulant child. “You know. Poverty, and stuff.” 

“You have ennui because of poverty?” 

“And nationalism. And the fact that corn on the cob is so delicious but always gets stuck in your teeth.” 

Lily plasters an expression on her face which is a mix of amusement and concern. She opens her mouth to say something but is interrupted. 

“I know what this is,” James opines through a mouthful. “You need a shag.” 

Sirius bristles and puts his fork down on his plate with a clang. “I am not just an ape, James. There is more I need to satisfy me than mindless rutting with a willing participant.” 

“Since when?” James quirks an eyebrow and takes a gulp of wine. 

“Since always,” Sirius grumbles, drumming a pattern on the table with his knuckles. 

“No, mate. This happens every time. You think you’re having some sort of existential crisis, but actually, you just need to get your end away. How long has it been? Two months? Three?”

“Six.” Sirius shakes his head, staring resolutely into his food which glistens, silky with delicious hydrogenated fats. 

“There we are, then,” James nods. “You need to get laid. I’m serious. Most people get hangry when they have an empty stomach, yes? You get _horngry_ when you need someone to touch your little tickle tackle.” 

Sirius scowls at him. But he can feel his expression softening against his will, and he feels startlingly close to tears. “I think maybe I want a little bit more than someone to touch my tickle tackle,” he sighs. And he doesn’t see it, but Lily and James exchange concerned glances, because this is a new and unwelcome development. 

“So I had an interesting day,” James explains, obviously finding something in his arsenal to distract his friend. “The girls at school are having a very spirited debate.” 

James is a secondary school Science teacher. It’s his calling, and he adores it. He enriches all of their lives each day with colourful tales of folk much younger and more dramatic than they can find it in themselves to be, now that they are old and dull. Last week, the highlight had been an explosion in the Chemistry lab which had made a boy faint and burned off one of James’s eyebrows, which is still thickened and scorched where the flames licked one side of his face (but his round glasses shielded him from the worst of it). The week before, there was a very public fight between two married teachers, one of whom had taken it upon himself to partake in a touch of extracurricular activity in the form of a highly ill-judged affair with a supply teacher named Bee. The pupils, too young to understand the importance of discretion, acted the whole debacle out: roleplaying in class, at break time, in assembly, for the next three days. 

“Pray tell,” Sirius takes a sip. “What are they debating today?”

“Well,” James pauses to slurp at his wine for dramatic effect. “I’ve only been able to glean so much. But by all accounts, there is going to be a poll to determine once and for all who is the fittest male teacher in the school.” 

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Lily waves her glass around in the air for emphasis. “I thought that girls these days were into Dorothy Parker and... you know, coding, not fawning over older men with questionable style and beer bellies.” 

“True feminism is being able to choose, Lily,” Sirius points out, much to her chagrin. 

“As I was saying,” James skirts around the issue nimbly. “I reckon I’m polling around number three, all in. Not feeling great about my chances, but there’s a fringe movement that’s gaining momentum. They’ve got a slogan and everything: ‘Ain't nobody hotter than our Mr Potter.’” He’s grinning now, from ear to ear, unbearably proud of himself and smug. “Now, I know what you’re going to say. If you’re a non-obese member of the faculty who’s younger than thirty, you automatically make the top five. But actually, Caradoc Dearborn ticks all of those boxes and he’s only coming in at seventh place. Competition is tougher than you’d think.” 

“Of course it is, dear.” Lily pats his hand, grinning. This is not the first time that the young, impressionable minds at Clifton Down High School have taken a liking to James: there was a protracted incident with a chesty sixth former whose James obsession got more than a little bit out of hand. Lily had found the whole affair _hilarious_. She’s more secure in her relationship than anyone Sirius knows, and with good reason. 

When the Chinese has been polished off and the wine drunk (and then another illicit bottle that they all pretend has just appeared on the table), Sirius makes his way to bed. His room smells a little bit funky: like old socks and the damp towel that’s been scrunched up on the floor for at least a week. He ignores it as best he can, bundling himself up in the covers and thanking himself, once more, for getting the posh pillows from John Lewis, not their cheaper counterparts that offer significantly less cervical support. 

He is very awake. And only ten minutes pass before he can hear the sure fire noises of James and Lily having sex; the uninhibited sort that springs from drinking just enough wine to dull their inhibitions, but not so much that James can’t get it up. It’s a phenomenon he’s experienced at least three times a week since he moved in with them three years ago, and he’s mostly accustomed to having to put his headphones in and picture himself on a Caribbean beach somewhere, far away from the other side of their very thin, shared wall. 

It’s not that he doesn’t love living with them. He considers himself particularly fortunate to live with two people whom he truly adores, who never make him feel like a nuisance or that he’s getting in their way. But unfortunately, they also adore each other. Emphatically. And sometimes that comes with physical consequences from which it’s impossible to extract oneself fully. 

He squeezes his eyes shut and mentally recites the only poem he knows by heart: The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock; a love of which was instilled in him by a particularly enthusiastic teacher with a voice like Patrick Stewart (and he hadn’t known he was bi!). Sleep finds him, eventually, but it’s fitful and too short. 

\-- 

The next day, he goes into work with the sort of hangover that promises to split his head in two all morning. He sits at his paper-strewn desk and pops some aspirin before firing up his inbox and wincing as he sees the number of unread emails he needs to sift through. His coffee is lukewarm before he knows it, and he ponders how it would feel to be shrunk down to the size of an Action Man and bathe in the murky brown liquid. He gulps it down in two. 

“You look like shit, you shameful little mollusc man.” 

A woman with a quiffed shock of bleached blonde hair throws herself into the next desk chair over from his: his office mate and university alum, Marlene. She is evidently in a good mood today because she hasn’t yet threatened to kill their boss, Horace, or thrust Sirius’s cigarettes into the office fish tank. 

“Thanks very much,” Sirius grumbles. “You look lovely, for what it’s worth.” 

And she did. Marlene, with her pin-up worthy figure and ever flawless red lipstick always looked like she could be transplanted to Old Hollywood at a moment’s notice and fit in perfectly. 

“Thank you, darling. I considered shaving my legs this morning, but it would have made me late and it’s not like anybody is ever going to see them. So I focused on my moustache instead.” 

“The right choice, I think,” Sirius grins. “So what’s your day looking like?” 

“Not too bad. I’ve got to go to Minehead, but that’s pretty much it. You?” 

“I’m having an office day,” Sirius nods. “Catch up on my paperwork, you know?” 

“Is this because you fear you may not be fit to drive because you drank two bottles of wine by yourself last night?” Marlene jabs him in the side with her ruler. 

“Not by myself. Lily and James were there the whole time. But otherwise, you’re not a million miles away.” He clicks his mouse a few times and indulges himself in a long blink that may turn into an accidental work nap if he’s not careful. “Right stop talking to me. I need to concentrate. You’re distracting me with all your valid but unwelcome questions.”

Marlene scoffs and starts painting her nails while dialling to make a call to one of her regular clients. When the sale is secured, she hangs up and blows on her fingertips, pleased with her work. Sirius is never not impressed by her ability to do eight different things at once. 

He smacks his dry lips together and raises his arm to sniff at his armpit. He groans. “Ugh, the Chinese we had last night was so garlicky, I think it might be coming out of my pores.” 

“Lovely.”

His coffee catches up with him and he embarks on the fourteen second walk to the toilets; the only spot in the office where there is proper central heating. He does his thing then washes his hands, gazing into the mirror. His hair is too long, he realises, curling around his shoulders, and he wonders when that happened, when he stopped having regular haircuts and remembering to trim his toenails. 

“Marls,” he asks, resuming his seat. “Do you think I’ve lost my mojo?” 

She glances at him, arching a perfectly waxed eyebrow. “You mean because you haven’t pulled anyone in a while?” 

“No, I just-- I don’t think I take much pride in my appearance anymore. I’m not sure I... care enough.” 

She surveys him over her tortoiseshell, 50s-style glasses and purses her lips. “Black, you could live in an actual hole and people would still want to shag you.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. But I know I get a bit lazy about taking care of myself when I’m a bit depressed. Are you feeling alright?” 

He ponders that. Is he? 

“Yes,” he says eventually. “But I feel like everyone is moving forward with their lives and I’m just doing the same old thing, day in, day out. I think the closest I can come to explaining it is to say that I’m in a rut.”

“You need a project,” she says. “Something to work on, to take pride in.” 

He suspects she’s right, but he’s never really been much of a busy body. The idea of organised fun (canoeing, salsa dancing, art classes) is about as appealing to him as snogging a jellyfish. 

“That,” she continues, “and someone decent to shag.” 

Sirius groans. “There _is_ no-one decent. They’re already engaged to James or are woefully uninterested in bumping uglies with me.” He gestures limply in her direction. 

“Oh Black. You wouldn’t know what to do with what I’ve got.”

“I could try. I’ve heard I’m a very proficient cunnilinguist.” 

She throws her head back and laughs; a derisive, filthy thing. “Such romance. How have I resisted for so long, eh?” 

“Eh, indeed.” He exhales slowly through his nose. “So how do I meet one of these _decent_ folk?” 

“Tinder.” 

“Ugh.” 

“Grindr.”

“Ughhhh.” 

“Real life?” 

“Don’t be preposterous, Marlene. Nobody meets in real life anymore. This isn’t the dark ages.”

“Well then we appear to have run out of options. Shall we go out for a fag?” She whips out a packet of menthols and hands one to him. He takes it even though menthols are the devil’s work. The paperwork lies on the desk; destined to remain undone. 

\--

The next day is only Wednesday. And he’s not sure how on earth that can be the case, given that the weekend feels like it was two _years_ ago (give or take). 

He leaves early. He has three calls to make, and the first, in Derbyshire, is a fair old trek. The DJ on the radio is talking excessively. It’s St Patrick’s day, apparently, and there is unending chatter about how everyone plans to spend the evening. It’s jarring, so he switches it off for a while, letting the sound of the road fill the car instead. The drive is uneventful, save for someone cutting him up, and he makes his first sale of the day in good time. Brewery number two also goes smoothly, and when the sun thinks about coming out, he thinks that Wednesday isn’t shaping up to be too arduous after all. 

He pulls into his last stop: a local brewery with a fantastic little tap room, pretty close to home. Sometimes, he stays after he’s made the sale for a tipple. Not tonight, though. Tonight, he has a date with his tattoo artist, Enzo, for the latest addition to his already impressive collection of etchings. He designed this one, with a bit of input from Enzo’s skillful hand: a dragon, breathing fire, which will take up half of his chest and hurt like all hell. He already loves it with his whole heart. 

It’s freezing. He pulls the zip of his jacket right up to his stubbly chin and shudders as he steps out of the car and bangs the door too hard. The walk to the office is uneven, and he artfully navigates muddy puddles before striding through the door and making a big fat sale to one of his favourite proprietors, Agatha, in record time. It’s almost too easy. 

He waltzes back to the car, whistling to himself, taking his phone out of his pocket to check the latest traffic reports. 

He thinks, at first, that he imagines it: a high-pitched sound coming from the hedgerow. But it’s enough to stop him in his tracks to see whether it happens again. Freezing liquid fills his socks, and when he looks down, he realises he’s stood right in the middle of one of the biggest puddles in the whole place. He swears under his breath. 

But there it is again. And this time, he can make out that it’s a whimper: feeble, faint, but definitely there. He steps towards the thick cover of the hedge and squats downwards, scanning the gaps in the leaves for any signs of life. He finds it, after a minute or so, in the form of a tiny, trembling little creature. He can make out eyes, half closed, and a tail. But it’s difficult, given the state of the poor thing, to determine whether it’s a dog, cat or fox. 

“Shit,” he mutters, aloud. Not thinking, he shakes off his jacket, scoops the shaking critter up into it and hastily makes his way back inside. 

“Agatha,” he pants, bursting back into the office and making her jump. “Agatha, I need help.” He lays whatever it is out on her desk and looks up at her, eyes pleading for a dose of her usual pragmatism and calm. “What even is it?” he asks, stooping to inspect more closely.

“He’s a puppy,” she gasps, bending so that her head is level with his. “And not a well puppy, at all.”

“God. Oh, _God_!” He’s got palpitations. He’s never been good in an emergency. “What’s wrong with his skin?” He gazes at the puppy; all rib cage and scabs, eyes crusted up and sore. Even from a distance, he can tell that the dog is crawling with fleas. He’s so tiny, can only be a few weeks old, and Sirius’s heart _squeezes_ when he whines, so quietly that it’s almost imperceptible. 

“I’m no expert,” Agatha sighs. Her kindly features are wrinkled with concern. “But it looks like mange. He needs a vet, like, yesterday.” 

Sirius gulps. And he looks again at the dog: so small and patchy and grim. “God,” he breathes. “I’ll take him.” He quickly looks up the nearest vets’ practice and promises Agatha that he’ll text her later with an update. 

Back in the car, he fires off an apologetic text to Enzo, explaining in as few words as possible what’s happened, then lets the sat nav send him to Summerton Veterinary Practice, which is equidistant between the brewery and home. He doesn’t dare distance himself from the dog, whom he keeps on his lap, still wrapped in the jacket, for the thirteen minutes it takes him to reach their destination. 

He pulls up in the car park and sits, for just a moment, making a conscious effort to breathe through his nose, just like the sodding meditation practice Marlene has thrust on him against his will, clutching the little bundle of bones to him and willing him not to fucking _die_ on him. “Come on, mate,” he whispers, And then he lifts him out of the car and prays to every god he’s ever heard of, pushing the door to the practice open with a jangle of a bell.


	2. Chapter 2

There is a strong, astringent smell to the waiting room; ammonia and detergent, and it makes Sirius feel faintly nauseous. A woman sits behind the reception desk, drumming her fingers on the white plastic surface and booking someone an appointment over the phone for their cat, Sprinkles. Stupid fucking name, he thinks to himself as he stands and waits his turn. There is a fake plastic candle flickering beside the woman, and a little sign which explains that when it’s turned on, someone is saying goodbye to their beloved pet, and asks others to please show empathy. 

He glances around the room, but none of the animals, besides the one he arrived with, appear to be in grave peril. He clings a little tighter to the waning bundle in his arms. There is a faint tremble that he can feel through the fabric of his jacket. It’s a comfort, in a way, because he knows there is some fight in the little scrap yet. 

The receptionist has lipstick on her teeth. She finishes her call and looks up at Sirius. “Good evening,” she trills brightly. 

“Err, yes, hello. I rang about twenty minutes ago, Sirius Black.”

“Ah, yes. The stray,” she nods, and hands him a form. “Please complete this and hand it back to me when you’re done. Then we’ll get you all registered and Dr Lupin will be able to see you as soon as possible.” 

Sirius takes the form wordlessly and fills it out the best he can, one-handed, clutching the dog to his side like it might help; like the warmth could buy them both some time. 

He frowns at the ‘name of pet’ field, which is marked by an asterisk, meaning that the information is mandatory. He ponders what to put for a moment, before deciding on Paddy, given that it’s St Patrick’s day and all. He ticks all the boxes to consent to their holding his data and places the clipboard into the receptionist’s waiting hands with a nod. 

Sirius takes a seat. He holds little Paddy close to him and makes quiet soothing noises. He hopes he can hear. He hopes he knows he’s safe now. 

The unmistakable sound of a woman sobbing bursts through the door of one of the examination rooms. He looks up. There is a sign on the door which reads ‘Dr R J Lupin, BVM BVS, MRCVS’. The door clicks open and a red-faced woman with a limp emerges without a pet. Sirius can guess why, and he feels sick, sicker still when he realises that he is next. He says a little prayer to the God of Dogs that Paddy will fare better.

A man appears in the doorway; Dr Lupin, Sirius supposes. He is first struck by the sheer height of the man, who’s at least four inches taller than his own six foot frame. He has slightly messy, sandy-coloured hair and a scruff of facial hair that’s longer than stubble but not quite a beard. He wears a slim fitting shirt; grey, and equally slim trousers; darker grey. His tan brogues match his belt and there’s a stethoscope slung around his neck, which Siris notices is long. And slender. Just like the rest of him. He locks eyes with Sirius, and his irises are a strange, warm shade of not-quite-brown. 

“Mr Black?” 

Sirius nods, a little taken aback. He had expected Dr Lupin to be a woman, for some reason; plump and reassuring. This man is neither of those things.

“Do you want to come through?” Dr Lupin asks. His voice is rich and deep, and as Sirius follows him into the room, he finds himself taking in the fair baby hairs that dust the back of his neck. 

Sirius deposits the trembling bundle on the examination table and Lupin’s air of professional detachment is wiped off his face, replaced by a furrowed brow and no small amount of concern. 

If possible, Paddy looks even worse. 

He is all bones and angles, and despite a valiant attempt to raise his head, his eyes barely open and he flops his chin back down on the table, exhausted. 

Dr Lupin gets to work. He listens to Paddy’s heart, takes his temperature, feels his swollen belly, looks in his mouth, his eyes, his ears. Sirius watches his expert hands as they carry out the tasks on autopilot: they are large and his fingers long and nimble, clean nails trimmed short. He scratches behind Paddy’s ear as he cajoles him into getting on the scales. He weighs next to nothing and Sirius is beginning to get palpitations again. 

“I need to draw some blood,” Dr Lupin explains as he rifles in a drawer for some syringes. “He won’t like this much, so if you could try to keep him calm, that would be great. That’s right, hold him firmly. You won’t hurt him.” 

Sirius blinks and nods dumbly, holding Paddy by the shoulders and wincing a little as he watches the needle go in. Paddy barely whimpers but that doesn’t make him feel any better about the situation. Dr Lupin is swift and efficient, and three vials of maroon blood now stand on the table, ready to be labelled up and tested. He isn’t sure Paddy has all that much blood to spare, but he supposes the vet knows best. 

“When did you find him?” the man asks in his deep baritone, running a soothing hand down Paddy’s back and looking at Sirius from underneath long, almost cow-like eyelashes. 

“About half an hour ago,” Sirius says, voice a little scratchy. 

Dr Lupin nods but doesn’t say anything. He tucks a strand of hair behind his ear and starts typing into his computer. 

“Mr Black,” he says eventually, and Sirius doesn’t care one bit for how grave his tone is. “Paddy is very poorly. He’s severely dehydrated and his temperature is off the scale, which indicates infection. The blood tests will tell us more. He’s riddled with fleas, has a belly full of worms, his eyes are infected, and he’s weak. Really weak.” 

Sirius doesn’t know what to say. So he says the first thing that comes into his head: “Mr Black is my father. Can you-- can you call me Sirius, please?” 

The taller man meets his eye and nods minutely. When he speaks again, his voice is ever so slightly softer. “Sirius, the worst case scenario is that he has canine parvovirus. It’s nasty. If it’s that, he’s very unlikely to survive - it would ravage his little system.” 

Sirius, mortifyingly, feels his eyes begin to prick with tears. For some reason, it’s very important to him that he doesn’t cry in front of Dr Lupin, so he blinks the wetness away and clears his throat. “What about the best case scenario?” 

“Best case, he’s got a more minor infection, or even a few of them. We pump him full of antibiotics and steroids, admit him and put him on a drip, and help his immune system to fight the infection. And we treat the parasites and feed him a high calorie diet in the hopes that he’ll gain some weight and get stronger. Eye drops, ear drops, medicated baths, and very close monitoring.” Dr Lupin leans against the surface and his eyes are tired but kind and sincere. “He might not survive, despite our best efforts. It will quickly get very expensive for you, too.” He looks him in the eye for a millisecond. “Perhaps the kinder thing to do would be to--” 

“No!” Sirius’s strangled voice fills the room. “No, I-- I know what you’re going to say, but I would-- I would like you to try. Please,” he adds. And Sirius has only just met this man, but for some reason, he thinks that if anyone can bring little Paddy back from the brink, it’s probably him. “The... err, the money doesn’t matter. I can pay.” 

“Okay. Okay, I will try,” Dr Lupin promises. His hands are pressed into the table, quite hard, Sirius thinks, because his knuckles are whitening, just a little. 

“Okay,” Sirius repeats. He watches as the vet prepares yet another syringe, this time to give Paddy some injections. This time, the puppy does make a tiny little noise, and Sirius’s insides swell with hope. 

In just a few seconds, it’s time for him to leave Paddy behind. He swoops down to press a fleeting kiss to the matted fur on the dog’s head. It doesn’t smell great, but it doesn’t occur to him to mind. “Make sure you fight as hard as you can,” he wills him. “And I really hope that one day, I’ll be able to take you home.” His voice cracks and he nods curtly at Dr Lupin, whose expression is one of courteous but detached empathy. 

“We will give you a call when the blood test results come back. And then the first big test is whether he makes it through the night. We will let you know either way first thing in the morning.” Dr Lupin holds out a hand for Sirius to shake. His palm is cool and dry, and his grip reassuringly firm. 

“Thank you,” Sirius croaks. And then, he is out the door and stepping onto the street. It’s spitting with rain, and he zips his leather jacket against the chill of the evening. He finds himself heading to his local pub where he pulls a stool up to the bar and demolishes two pints of remarkably average beer while the barman moans at him about the impact of Brexit on beer taxes.

His phone rings while he is at the urinal having a piss, and he nearly misses the call. 

“Hello!” he pants, zipping up his fly and narrowly avoiding a dreadful zip-based incident. 

A familiar voice talks back at him. “Sirius, hello. It’s Dr Lupin.” Sirius wonders whether he can tell that he’s in the toilet. He hopes not, but his voice does echo thanks to the tiled walls, and he thinks that he’s the sort to maybe figure it out. “The test results are back, and I have good news. It’s not parvovirus. Which means we’re in with a shot. He’s sedated and comfortable, on a drip. The night nurses will take good care of him, and I’ll give you a call with an update once I get in tomorrow.”

Sirius grins. “Right, okay. That’s fantastic. Thank you so much.” 

“Of course,” the other voice says after a moment. “Speak tomorrow.”

\--

After one more pint, he finds himself at Marlene’s. She’s in a good mood so she lets him rest his head in her lap and tell her all about his day while she runs her fingers through his hair. Sirius loves that, she knows, and she must be able to sense his trauma because she even makes him a cup of coffee which he doesn’t drink until it’s cold, in part because Marlene is doing that thing where she rakes her fingernails over his scalp. It’s lovely. Sometimes when she does this, he gets a little boner, but it’s not because he fancies her, really. It’s more of a platonic boner rather than the sexy kind, not least because she has made it more than clear over the years that she has no desire to be anything other than his friend.

It’s nicer this way, he supposes. This way, they can tell each other all about the people they are shagging, and the sexy escapades in which they (increasingly seldom) engage, without any pesky feelings getting in the way.

It’s great. Really.

Marlene takes a long drag of a cigarette and deposits some ash in a precariously balanced ashtray on the arm of the sofa, which wobbles dangerously close to Sirius’s silky black locks. “So this vet, then. Is he hunky?” 

Sirius thinks about this. “No,” he decides. “He’s very pale. You know, sort of wispy and anemic-looking. And... old.” 

“Old like Tom Hiddleston, or old like... Ian McKellan?” 

“Hiddleston. Definitely Hiddleston. I reckon he must be in his late thirties. But I think he seems good. He had very... professional hands.” 

Marlene scoffs. “Some of the things you come out with. Professional hands, indeed.” 

He gazes up at her and grins sheepishly. He sighs. “Oh, Marls. I can’t stop thinking about poor little Paddy in the vets, all alone. He’s so tiny and he’s not going to know what’s going on at all.” 

“I know,” she soothes. “But if he pulls through, you can go and see him tomorrow, I bet. And the day after, and for as long as it takes. He’s in the best place, isn’t he?” 

“Yeah,” Sirius nods into her lap. “He is.” 

She strokes a thumb tenderly across his temple. “Do you want to stay?” 

“No, don’t worry. I want to be able to go and see him first thing if everything’s okay.” He speaks the last words around a yawn and takes that as his cue to prise himself from the solace of her lap and head home. 

She sees him to the door. “Still up for cocktails with the gang tomorrow?” she asks, smoothing her hand through her shock of blonde hair. 

“Yep. I know Pete’s in, and Lily’s pretending that she’s on the fence but I bet they get there half an hour before anyone else.”

“Alright, babe.” She kisses him on the cheek and squeezes him gently. “A demain!” 

“No, _you_ da man,” he says bravely, stepping out into the cold. 

\--

This time, Sirius is ready for the vet’s call. In fact, he is up and dressed earlier than he can remember on a weekday since... maybe ever.

“Good morning, Sirius, it’s--” 

“Dr Lupin! Hello, good morning. How--” He almost asks how Paddy is, but if he didn’t make it through the night, he’s not sure he can stand to be corrected. “How did the night go?” he asks instead. 

“He made it.” 

Sirius releases the breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Oh, thank God.” 

“You can come and see him, if you want.” 

“I’ll be there in five.” Sirius is out the door before he has even hung up.

When Sirius opens the door, the bell jangles and Dr Lupin glances up. Today, he is wearing a tight blue shirt. Sirius notices it’s tight before he clocks the colour. He wonders just how many of those shirts, the ones that seem so well tailored they could be made for him, he owns. 

And where yesterday, Sirius had thought him to be skinny; lanky, even, today he realises that his shoulders are actually fairly broad, and there may even be a hint of bicep trying to make its presence known through the thin fabric of his shirt. 

“Ah, hello. Good timing - I’ve got ten minutes before the appointments start.” He jerks his head towards the back of the surgery. “Do you want to come and see him?” 

Sirius nods and finds himself walking quickly to keep up with the man’s strides as he heads behind the reception desk and to a room full of cages, out of view from the waiting room. There is a notice board which details the feeding and treatment schedules of various admitted animals

He spots him, the dog, squatting down in a large cage against the wall. Somebody has put a plush, fleece blanket in there for him, and he is cuddled up in its embrace. He seems to notice Sirius as his tail slaps twice against the mesh of the cage before it falls still and curls against his scrawny little body once more. 

“Somebody’s cleaned him,” Sirius observes. He turns to the other man who raises an eyebrow; his face a melting pot of mild amusement and what Sirius thinks is thinly disguised irritation. 

“Yes,” he says. “Somebody’s cleaned him. We also treated the fleas. Poor Charlotte, the student veterinary nurse, was picking the buggers off him all evening. He’s had his worming treatment but that will take a little longer to work fully.”

“Gross.” 

Dr Lupin laughs, a little derisively, Sirius thinks. He wonders whether he thinks he’s an idiot. Probably. He hasn’t done much to challenge the assumption yet. He should probably work into conversation that he has a prestigious degree, or that he speaks French. Or _both_ if he stands a chance of—

“He had a good night, Sirius.” His voice has lost some of its sharpness, now. And he’s looking right at Sirius. He has a lovely nose, he notices: big and straight and full of character, like a Roman statue. Two of his eyelashes are stuck together and the corner of his mouth is creased; all seriousness and concern and quiet competence.

Sirius has to look away. 

“So do we know what we’re dealing with yet?” he asks, stepping closer to Paddy and further away from the faint, crisp, old-fashioned smell of talcum powder that Dr Lupin releases every time he moves. Sirius squats down on knees that creak from years of school rugby and lowers his head until his eyes are level with huge brown ones that open wider, then blink slowly. 

“Well, there is good news and bad news. The bad news is that he has quite a lot wrong with him. A few different infections with distinct, difficult treatments that will place considerable strain on his young organs.” 

Sirius hauls in a deep breath and nods. “And the good?” 

“The infections are treatable. So that’s something. But it’s still a lot. We need to be very careful not to overload his body with too many medications. It’s a fairly delicate balance.” 

And then Sirius smells the powdery, soapy smell again and Dr Lupin is crouched down beside him. They stare through the mesh of the crate together and Paddy valiantly lifts his head. 

“Do you think he’s going to survive?” Sirius asks. He is glad that he showered this morning and hopes that he remembered to spritz some cologne on his neck, never sure whether his natural scent is more enticing musk or stale must. 

Not that he wants to entice Dr Lupin, of course, who is so close that Sirius can see the freckles dotted across the bridge of his nose. He furrows his brow, the skin knotting at his forehead, and his mouth is a firm line that gives nothing away. “I’m not sure,” he says softly, not looking his way. “But I think he might.” 

There follows a silence so devoid of any interruption that Sirius can hear all of Dr Lupin’s soft inhalations and exhalations. His shirt sleeves are rolled up to the elbow and Sirius likes how slender his wrists are, how his arm hair is so pale, how the bones of his knuckles jut sharply out, as if striving for independence from the rest of his hands. 

“His skin looks a little bit better,” Sirius observes, deciding to find some light in the circumstances. But then, he thinks of everything else that’s wrong, and he sighs, overwhelmed again. “Oh Paddy. He’s falling apart.” 

“Aren’t we all?” Dr Lupin says, somewhat profoundly. Sirius chances a glance at his face, and it gives nothing away. 

“Remus,” a voice interrupts, belonging to a young blonde woman in tight, white scrubs. Sirius startles but Dr Lupin is unfazed. He turns his head slowly to face her. “Grandma is here for her nail trim.”

“Charlotte, ah, morning!” He turns to face Sirius and he nods sternly. “Grandma is a Rottweiler. We are not running an illicit side hustle.” He stands up, face creasing in - is that pain? - as he does, and he steadies himself on one of the higher cages. “Charlotte, Sirius here was just admiring your excellent flea removal skills.” And then to Sirius - “I will leave you in Charlotte’s very capable hands. Again, I’ll give you a call if anything changes.” He looks at him for a moment, then nods sternly and leaves the room.

Charlotte hovers in the doorway after he has gone. “Who names their Rottweiler Grandma?” he asks her absently, poking a finger through the wire to pat lamely at Paddy’s head. 

“That’s nothing,” she says. “Their other one is called Snoop Dogg.”

Sirius sniffs out a little laugh and his heart swells as Paddy gives his finger a brave lick. 

“He-- erm...” she starts, then trails off when Sirius fixes his eyes right on hers. “He’s the best vet here. I’ve seen him wrestle pets back from the brink of certain death. And his surgical skills are really quite something. He’s won all sorts of accolades as a surgeon. He actually trains newly qualified vets.” 

He nods, and what he’s hearing very much lines up with the impression of Dr Lupin (Remus!) he has carefully patched together thus far. “He’s in good hands,” he knows.

\-- 

“You have no idea what it’s like living next to such a deranged Harpie!” Peter is onto his third sex on the beach, which means that the corners of his mouth are tinged pink and the whingeing portion of the evening has begun in earnest. “She’s actually reported me to the council.” 

“Arabella? Whatever for?” Lily laughs, “building a shed that’s completely compliant with planning regulations?” 

“She told them I’m running an illegal chop shop from the back garden.” 

Sirius barks out a hearty laugh. “You have one car. There has literally only ever been one car in that shed.” 

“I know, mate. And I’ve been doing it up for... what, a year? It would be the least profitable chop shop since the dawn of time.” He runs his finger through a sticky patch his glass has left on the table. 

“Well, she’s hardly going the right way about creating amicable neighbourly relations, is she?” Lily pats Peter on the shoulder. “Want me to write a solicitor’s letter telling her to cease and desist? You’ve got good grounds to say she’s filing spurious, vexatious claims against you. It’s one step down from slander.” 

“Let’s hope it doesn’t get to that,” he says, a little brighter. 

Sirius knows that a sure fire way to cheer him up is to get him talking more about the car; a banged up Mini Cooper from the sixties that Peter has lovingly thrown all his money at in a bid to make up for the fact that Mary Macdonald, apparently the love of his life, is going out with a tattooed bricklayer named Steve instead of him. But they don’t talk about that, so instead he asks “So how’s she running then, Pete? Any wheels yet?” 

“Four!” Peter enthuses. “Four whole wheels!” He sips gingerly at his lurid pink cocktail. “No tyres, as such, but we’re getting there.” 

“Well that’s good. And once you’ve got tyres, you can run the old cow over, eh?” That earns him a swatted backhand around the head from Lily. He holds his hands up in surrender. “So, I haven’t told you guys yet. But I sort of have a dog now.” He lets the words hang in the air and stands up, chair scraping across the tiled floor of the bar. “Who wants a drink?” 

Lily holds him by the sleeve of his jacket and glares at him. “I’m sorry, Sirius, platonic love of my life, but I thought you just said that you sort of have a dog now.” 

“Yes.” 

“But you are here. And you are dogless.” 

“Yes.” 

“And you live in my home. My lovely, rabies-free home.” 

“Yes.” 

She sighs, world-weary and long-suffering. “Right, get the drinks in and you can tell us all about it.” 

When he returns, it’s with a trayful of Long Island iced teas and a veritable smorgasbord of artisan crisps: he knows how to butter Lily up. 

“Really there’s no need to get upset about it yet, Lils. He’s in a bad way and they don’t know if he’s going to pull through.” 

“How did you even find him?” she asks, squinting at him through fingers that are clasped around the front of her head in probable despair. 

“In a brewery,” he shrugs. As if she should have known that. He fumbles in his pocket to show her a photo. 

“I hate dogs,” she grumbles. “They smell, and they piss everywhere, and they bark all hours of the night.” She takes the phone from Sirius and deflates like a three-day-old balloon. “Well fuck, now I want him to pull through.” 

Sirius glances down at the photo he took earlier that day. His fur is still a mess but his eyes look brighter and it’s now clear that he’s absolutely, 100% not a fox. And he wants him to pull through, too. So much that it tugs at a spot in his abdomen, gnaws at all his insides. But there has been no phone call, and that’s what he’s clinging to. In the meantime, it can only be one day at a time, one foot in front of the other. 

\-- 

“Come and see,” Dr Lupin smiles softly when Sirius bundles through the door the next morning, the jangling bell hurting his fragile, hungover head. When he smiles, there are dimples in his cheeks, and Sirius thinks he should probably do it more. It does nice things to his general demeanour (and to Sirius’s intestines, but maybe that’s just last night’s excesses working their way through). Today, he is dressed in scrubs, much to Sirius’s dismay (he had been betting with himself on today’s choice of slim-cut shirt the whole way here). 

Paddy is sitting up, is the thing. He’s sat in his cage looking - sleepy, yes - but at least twice as alert as he was the day before. 

“He’s starving,” Dr Lupin explains. “Which is a fantastically good sign. Charlotte has been sneaking him the odd treat when she thinks I’m not looking and he is scoffing them like it’s Christmas.” 

When Paddy realises who is in the room, he lets out the tiniest, most pathetic bark Sirius has ever heard, but it’s there, and it could be a fucking symphony for how brilliant it sounds to his ears. 

“He’s-- he looks good. Doesn’t he?” He turns to Dr Lupin for confirmation who rewards him with a tiny nod. 

“He looks good.” 

Sirius doesn’t manage to fight the gargantuan grin that consumes his face. 

Dr Lupin smiles at his smile. Then, as if he has caught himself doing it, straightens his mouth back into a firm line and nods curtly. “We had a moment yesterday where he gave me a fright, but... well- he pulled through.” 

Sirius, to his horror, feels a tear tracking down his cheek. His bottom lip is trembling precariously as he says “thank you,” voice a little wobbly. 

Dr Lupin clears his throat. “Yes, well. I mean-- Only doing my job,” but he is smiling again, smaller and more controlled this time; less like it’s happening without his permission. “We’re not out of the woods yet. His temperature keeps spiking, which I’m not happy about. And he hasn’t started gaining weight yet, which is going to be key.”

“But he’s still here,” Sirius laughs, not quite believing it. 

“He’s still here.”

Actually, Sirius quite likes the scrubs. They make him look a bit like he’s in Grey’s Anatomy, and given that McSteamy played no small part in his bisexual awakening, it’s a little bit triggering, but in a good way, especially when he bends over to grab something from a drawer and Sirius can tell that he’s wearing stripy boxers which, for some reason, is really quite endearing. 

“What’s with the scrubs today, then?” Sirius finds himself asking, perhaps to stop himself from thinking about those boxers. 

Dr Lupin stands up, too quickly and he nearly loses his balance. “Oh, ah-- well, I’m in surgery today.” He gestures at his clothing. “This is more practical. Easier to get the blood out.” 

Sirius pulls a face at that and sits himself down on the floor, cross-legged, to gaze at his canine buddy. 

“I’m going to ask Charlotte to try him on some solid food today, see how that goes down.” 

Sirius nods, resting his chin on his knuckles. Paddy has resumed the sleep that he so rudely interrupted, and now he’s kicking the air jerkily, seemingly far away from this realm. “What do you think he’s dreaming about?” 

“Hard to say. There are studies that suggest dogs dream about the same sort of things we do: their day-to-day activities like eating, running, chasing the ladies.” 

Sirius sniffs. “I can’t be arsed to chase the ladies any more, even in my dreams. Last night, I dreamt that I was on Great British Bake Off but when it came to the technical challenge, I couldn’t turn the oven on and I left it too late to ask - it would have been embarrassing - so when everyone else served up their superb mille-feuille, I gave the judges a great big bowl of sloppy blamanche.” 

Dr Lupin does that same derisive laugh, the one that makes Sirius feel a bit like he is a child at a dinner party but has somehow ended up on the adults’ table, away from his playmates his own age.

“Of course, the stranger thing was that I was on Bake Off at all, given that I barely know how to use a can of squirty cream. But to dream me, all of that made sense. It was just the oven thing that was the clincher.” 

“So what did Paul Hollywood make of this blamanche?” There is something marvellously confident about him, Sirius thinks; this vet. He wonders if it’s this famed big dick energy that Marlene always goes on about, which he has yet to see in action. Sirius watches as he moves about the room, writing on animals’ charts and administering medicine, while keeping up easily with the conversation. 

“He said it would have been a triumph,” he says, “were it a mille-feuille.” 

“Ah, of course. Well that’s praise indeed, really, given how far you strayed from the brief.” 

“That’s what I thought?” Sirius nods. “But I woke up before I could find out whether I made it through to bake another week.” 

The veterinary nurse that Sirius now knows to be Charlotte comes into the room, wrapped in a huge puffer jacket which she discards and hangs on a peg behind the door. “Good morning!” she greets them, and Sirius would bet that _she_ didn’t have eight (or was it nine?) cocktails last night. 

“I bought you a coffee, Remus. Black. No sugar.” 

“Ah, good taste!” Sirius nods, watching the flickering of Paddy’s eyelids intently. “That’s exactly how I take mine.” 

Dr Lupin thanks Charlotte and they prepare together for the day’s surgery. Sirius gleans that they are going to castrate a poodle, amputate a Bengal and de-cyst a parakeet. It sounds like a pretty good set up for a joke, but for now, his conversation with Dr Lupin appears to be over. And far from dazzling him with his own academic prowess and stunning maturity (for his age) as planned, he has spent the whole time recounting a farcical dream which, at best, makes him seem like a harmless but amusing moron. 

When he is certain that they are not going to pick up where they left off, Sirius bids Paddy goodbye. He’s on his way out of the door when a hand presses firmly to his shoulder blade and he stops in his tracks. 

Dr Lupin is stood in his space, towering over him in that way he does. He hands him the coffee-filled paper cup from Charlotte. “Here,” he says, obviously amused. “I think you need this more than I do.”


	3. Chapter 3

Over the next few days, Paddy continues to make slow but sure progress. Sirius carries on visiting every morning and the dog has started to get excited when he sees him. He’s off his drip, now, and onto a food that is supposedly solid, but really has the consistency of toothpaste with a smell that is _definitely_ less pleasant than his Colgate Total White. Paddy seems to like it, though, judging by how much of it is caked on his muzzle each morning when he visits. 

Sirius has also figured out that if he gets to the surgery even earlier, they will still let him in and his conversation with Dr Lupin will last that bit longer before he is drawn into the first consultations of the day. In fact, the half hour he spends in his company is fast becoming the highlight of his day. He deeply suspects that the sentiment is not mutual, and he wonders whether the older man is simply too polite to ask him to shut his pretty mouth-hole so he can get on with his work. 

One thing is sure: Sirius does the bulk of the chatting. 

For instance, when he spends a full twenty minutes telling Dr Lupin intently about green hopped beers versus dry hopped beers, and how he likes both, but who can choose, really, because it’s like comparing apples and oranges, and both have their merits, he doesn’t say an awful lot. 

And when he launches into a diatribe about how he thinks Adam Sandler is unfairly vilified, because he’s not _that_ bad really, and The Wedding Singer is probably one of the finest examples of the nineties rom-com genre, Dr Lupin fixes him a look which is equal parts astonishment and scorn. 

And he’s not even sure Dr Lupin is listening at all when he waxes lyrical about who he’s backing in Australian Masterchef because he’s measuring out doses of prescription food and humming what sounds a lot like the theme tune from Fireman Sam.

He does laugh, sometimes, but he almost looks cross about the fact when he does. 

When Saturday comes around, Sirius treats himself to a lie-in. And then he lets Marlene drag him to some exhibition that bores his (mismatched) socks off. And before he knows it, it’s nearing five and he’s yet to see Paddy. The weather is dreadful; rain lashes against every inch of the car, and visibility is so poor that Sirius considers turning around. He perseveres, though, and as he pulls into the car park, he’s glad of the tiny umbrella he keeps in the glove compartment which shields him from the worst of it (though his shoes are much wetter than he would like as he pushes the door open to the vets and the familiar bell jangles overhead). 

He notices that there is a new receptionist. He is irritated by the fact because now he has to go through the exhausting rigmarole of explaining who he is, why he’s here, what his birthstone is, probably, when it’s precious time he could be spending with the dog (and if the human looking after him is around, too, then that’s just a happy coincidence). 

But then Dr Lupin appears, all towering and tailored, in a pale pink shirt that Sirius thinks is _definitely_ his favourite, and he waves him through to the back room. Sirius’s shoes squelch with every step. 

“I didn’t think you were coming today,” he says, eyes shining as he takes Sirius’s umbrella off him and hangs it on the peg of the door. 

Sirius is pleased, _thrilled_ , that his absence has been noted. “Did you miss me?” he asks, plastering his most boyishly irresistible face on and running a hand through his hair in a way he hopes is a little bit charming.

Dr Lupin snorts, and it should be unbecoming, but it is somehow sort of appealing. He neither confirms nor denies. 

“You’ve put in a long day.” Sirius sits himself down in front of the cage and Paddy has enough energy to do a little dance in greeting. Sirius’s heart soars. 

Dr Lupin hums in agreement. “There was an emergency I had to deal with. A cat needed unblocking and Hannah had a full day’s surgery, so...”

“Unblocking?” Sirius asks whipping a chicken treat out of his pocket and slipping it through the mesh. 

“Don’t think I didn’t see that,” Dr Lupin says gruffly, and Sirius wonders, not for the first time, whether he is maybe a tiny bit magical. “Cats are quite poorly designed, really. The males have very short, narrow urethras, and if there’s too much inflammation, they block up. It’s an emergency because they can’t urinate, so it doesn’t take too long for their bodies to fill with toxins and they--” 

“Die?” Sirius asks, aghast. 

“Die,” Lupin confirms. 

“Did you manage to help him?”

“Oh, well yes, actually. It’s Mr Tiddles, over there - consider him unblocked.” He gestures towards a cage in which a huge black cat lies, snoozing. “He’s pretty out of it from all the drugs, but he’ll be okay, I think.” 

Sirius nods, pleased. “Oh. Well that’s good, then. And now you can finally go home!” 

Dr Lupin’s cheeks colour slightly, Sirius is almost sure of it. “It’s fine, I’m in no rush. We can let him out for a few minutes, if you like? Let him stretch those legs.” 

Sirius gazes at him, wide-eyed. “Is he ready?” 

“Definitely. He’s been trying to orchestrate a breakout all day. Every time Charlotte feeds him, he is seconds away from staging a coup.” He walks right over to where Sirius is sitting and leans over him to slide the bolt across. There is a little hairless patch under his chin, and Sirius can see right up his nostrils from this angle, which feels a little intrusive, but he doesn’t appear to have noticed. When he rights himself, there are parts of his shirt which are coloured ever so slightly darker with sweat. He swallows and Sirius can see his Adam’s apple, bobbing down in his slender throat. 

Sirius’s heart does something funny in his chest. 

Paddy bounds out of his cage and Sirius, still seated, finds himself on the receiving end of a barrage of barking and licking, which he is somewhat unprepared for. But seeing him come so far in the space of a couple of weeks is brilliant, inspiring, and he knows for the first time that he made the right decision, keeping him around, backing his corner. He settles quickly, curling up in Sirius’s lap while he smooths soft lines down his fur. 

Dr Lupin stays standing, leaning gingerly against one of the cages, mouth turned up in one corner as he watches the display. “I think he definitely knows you’re his,” he says. 

“I should say so. You’re costing me a bloody fortune, young Patrick.” He scratches behind the dog’s ear and sighs. “I’ve always wanted a dog.” 

“You say that now,” Dr Lupin smiles wryly. “He’s only a wee bairn. Wait till he’s back to full strength and eating your most prized possessions.” 

“Not sure I’ve got any,” Sirius shrugs. “Although, if he knows what’s good for him, he’ll stay away from my leather jacket. Rumour has it, Mick Jagger got laid in that thing.” 

“Gosh. Imagine the stories it could tell.” 

“Imagine the bodily fluids it could expel.”

Dr Lupin laughs, properly this time, without a hint of derision. He stands perfectly still and his mouth scrunches up, as if he’s fighting an urge, but then he exhales audibly, walks to the door and grabs Sirius’s umbrella and a jacket of his own. 

“Where are you going?” Sirius asks, alarmed. 

“ _We_ are going for a drink. I need to hear more about this jacket of yours. So many questions.” 

Sirius has to stop his face from doing something truly embarrassing. He desperately wants to play it cool, but his pulse is bounding in his ears and he doesn’t quite know how to get up and show his willingness with the dog still curled in his lap. 

Dr Lupin seems to sense his predicament. He crosses the room in two steps and reaches down to gently scoop Paddy into his arms and back into his cage. He holds out a hand and helps Sirius up; Sirius whose face is still doing strange, twitchy things; Sirius whose day just got significantly, embarrassingly better. 

He hands Sirius the umbrella and dons his jacket; a muted grey trench coat that somehow makes him look even taller and... longer. He steps ostensibly out of the room. 

“Where are we going?” Sirius asks. He knows he is trotting beside him like a puppy on a lead, but it feels like it would be a travesty to fall behind. 

“There’s a wine bar,” Dr Lupin gestures, “just around the corner. It’s the best perk of the job.” He holds open the door of the practice, bids the receptionist goodnight and they step out into the rain, which has turned into a biblical downpour, striding with purpose until they reach the sort of establishment it would be easy to walk straight past. It’s tiny and unassuming. The walls are covered in dusty bottles of wine and it smells of tannins and Sirius loves it right away. 

It’s been a long while since Sirius has drunk nice wine, given that he works where he does. But he does like it. Dr Lupin knows the staff behind the bar and orders a bottle that he’s obviously had before. He ushers them over to a dimly lit table across from the bar, and in this light, every line, every indentation in his face is more pronounced: the dimples in his cheeks, the faint, spidery creases that cuddle his eyes, the pronounced dip between the top of his full lips and the bottom of his nose. 

Sirius likes him in this light. 

There is a drip of rainwater clinging to his upper lip, and his tongue slides out to lick it away. “This,” he says as he pours a glass of dark, moody wine for each of them, “is a fantastic wine. Sicilian. Grown on the slopes of Etna. It’s unusual because of the unique properties of the volcanic soil. You’ll like it, I think.” 

Sirius nods, concentrating hard. “You wouldn’t think anything would be able to grow in such an extreme landscape.”

“Actually, the ash is a fantastic fertiliser so the soil is rammed with nutrients. It’s more the weather that poses a challenge to wine growers, because it’s so hot and dry in the summer, then snowy through the winter months. But they’ve found varieties of grape that thrive up there, and this is the result.” 

Sirius takes his glass and sips, tentatively. He doesn’t want it to be wasted on him; wants to understand the complexities and properly enjoy it, more than he would the bottle of Blossom Hill that he usually picks up from Tesco for a fiver. 

It’s delicious, and not just in the way that wine is usually delicious: lovely, but you sort of wish it were beer, or a strawberry milkshake. It’s oaky and deep, and Sirius closes his eyes against how it tastes as it rolls over his tongue. 

“Like it?” Dr Lupin asks, but Sirius suspects that he knows the answer. 

“Mmm, yeah I do.” He takes another sip. “Have you been, then? To Sicily?” 

“No. But I’m thinking of it for my next holiday. Go and see the vineyards in action. And there’s something I find very childishly appealing about volcanoes.” He bites at a bit of dead skin on his finger, eyes locked on Sirius. 

Sirius nods. “I went to Pompeii, a couple of years ago. It was very cool. Did you know, there’s a guy there, perfectly preserved, who appears to have... how can I put this... spent his last moments on this earth indulging in some self-fulfilment?”

Lupin raises an eyebrow. “Wanking, you mean?” 

Sirius, thrilled that he would put it so vulgarly, lets out a huge bark of laughter. “Yes, that’s exactly what I mean. And now he’s stuck there for all eternity, dick in hand for all to see.” 

“Better than spending eternity taking a shit, I suppose” the other man observes, all too astutely.

“Yes, I suspect you might be right. There’s an indignity in getting caught short shitting but a real ‘fuck you’ brilliance about choosing to have a wank as you meet your grizzly end.” Sirius finds himself relaxing into their... well whatever this is. “You know, I didn’t know you had such an exotic turn of phrase, Dr Lupin.” He waggles his eyebrows and rolls his wine around in his glass so it sloshes near the rim. 

“I think you can probably call me Remus, now.”

“Okay. _Remus_.” Sirius likes that, too. Likes how it sounds on his lips. Likes the tiny tilting upwards of Remus’s mouth when he hears it. 

“So what is it you do, Sirius Black? Apart from the obvious philanthropic puppy rescue?” Remus runs a hand through his wet hair and it stands on end. He’s looking right at Sirius. 

“Ah, I sell hops. To breweries. I’m a hop merchant.” 

Remus nods, pensive. “I see. And I’ve brought you to a wine bar.” 

Sirius grins. “Trust me, it’s nice to have a change from warm, badly kept beer. I don’t know why pubs insist on bastardising such good stock. It’s a travesty, really.” 

Remus’s shoulders visibly relax. “So how did you end up selling hops? It’s an unusual vocation.” 

“My friend Marlene got me in after we graduated. And I’m pretty good at it, really. But I think it’ll be a temporary thing until I work out what I want to do, you know, when I grow up.” 

Remus nods. “I had it easy, I suppose. Always wanted to be a doctor, but then I realised I’m a bit of a hypochondriac, so I went to vet school instead.” 

“Animals are nicer than people.” 

“Less belligerent,” Remus agrees. “Although, they can still talk back something dreadful. And I daresay there’s more biting involved.” He casts his eyes over Sirius’s face, searching for something. “So what’s your degree in?” 

“Politics, Philosophy and Economics.” Sirius winces. “It, err. It wasn’t really the one.” 

“Bit dry?” 

“A bit. I sort of struggled with the whole concept. I think I’m a bit more creative, really. But I had to do something proper. Something that’s not too much fun.”

“Well, PPE is that.” 

“Yep. It met the brief perfectly. My father is a politician. You might have heard of him - Orion Black?” 

“As in the Orion Black who was Chancellor of the Exchequer?” 

“The very same. I don’t really speak to them,” he says, candour coming easily. “My family, I mean. They’re very traditional. Super right wing. Super Catholic. We’re basically as different as it gets.” He fiddles with the packet of cigarettes in his pocket. “My brother’s more like me, but we’re not strictly on speaking terms at the moment.” 

“What happened?” 

Sirius cringes. “I shagged his friend.” 

“Ah.” 

“At his birthday party.” More cringing. “On a trampoline.” Cringe city.

“Right. I can see why that might cause some tension.” Remus searches his face, eyes bright and alive with nervous energy. “Was she worth it?” 

Sirius’s stomach lurches and he has absolutely no idea why. “ _He_ was fantastic.” He lets it hang in the air between them. “But probably not worth the hassle, on reflection.” He studies Remus’s face, not sure what he’s looking for. Whatever it is, he’s left waiting because the man sat before him is a frustratingly closed book. “So what about your family, then? Are you close?” he settles for asking. 

“With my mum,” Remus nods, “in our own little way. My dad died when I was seventeen.” 

“Shit, sorry,” Sirius says, stung. 

Remus shrugs. “Thank you.” He clears his throat. “It’s twenty years ago, so I’m... you know. Things get better.” 

Sirius nods, but he doesn’t know, not really. 

“He was ill for a long time,” Remus adds. “For all my teenage years, actually. We were very similar. I look a lot like him. Lots of similar mannerisms, I’m told. He was a bit of an introvert. A bit odd.”

“You’re not odd,” Sirius blurts, too quickly. “No, I don’t think you’re odd at all,” he murmurs, gazing intently at his hands. His cheeks are flaming, he can feel it, and he’s immeasurably glad that the lighting is dark and dingy. 

The woman who works behind the bar comes over and lights the candle on the table that sits in the thick silence between them. The light softens Remus’s features and Sirius thinks that potentially, he could have done without his features being softened, could have done without the sudden romance the candle brings to their odd little rendez-vous. 

The bottle is polished off in no time, and Sirius starts to feel a little bit woozy. “It must have been so hard for you,” he says, emboldened, “experiencing such loss, so early in your life.” 

Remus, to Sirius’s amazement, bursts out laughing. And, seeing the horrified expression on Sirius’s face, laughs all the more. “Sorry,” he wheezes once he’s composed himself. “Sorry, I just had a real feeling that I was being interviewed for a lifetime movie.” He eyes Sirius, who is a little tiny bit offended. But then his laughter ebbs away and he bows his head in a single nod. “Yes,” he says after a pause. “It was all kinds of awful, really. He had a brain tumour. It created lots of pressure in his brain, so he threw up a lot. And he was so dizzy, he could barely walk. He was in a wheelchair for the last couple of years. But the thing is, the tumour wasn’t cancerous, so it killed him slowly, filled up his brain till there was no more space, and that’s how he died.”

Sirius nods. 

“I don’t really remember him as a well man, now.” Remus offers, unprompted. “Sometimes, I forget to remember him at all.” He sighs. “All I feel is this unerring sense of guilt: that it was easier to stay away from the hospital because seeing him was so upsetting; that I was too young to know how to have any sort of meaningful conversation with him about death; that he probably didn’t know he was so loved.”

Sirius feels ragged, but cherishes these precious insights. “I bet he knew.” 

Remus squeezes his eyes closed, and when he opens them again, they are clear and easy. He looks at Sirius for a beat. “Shall we get another?” he asks, looking at their empty glasses. 

“Yes!” Sirius thinks he might have lost his cool as he leaps at the opportunity to spend another hour or so here, watching the candlelight flicker around Remus’s face and listening to him talk about his life. He thinks he would probably enjoy listening to him even if he was doing something as mundane as reading out a shopping list, or a car manual, or the shipping forecast. “Let me!” He leaps to his feet and whips his wallet out of his pocket. He falters. “What-- err, what shall we have?”

“What do you fancy?” 

“I don’t know much about wine,” Sirius confesses. “I think I like Merlot. Do you?” 

“Yes,” Remus smiles softly. “Yes, I do.”

“Okay,” Sirius nods, “okay.” He suspects he’s humouring him, but concentrates on making it to the bar and forming the words required to place the order. 

When he comes back to the table with a bottle he probably spent far too much on, Remus is looking at something on his phone. He slips it back into his pocket and thanks Sirius, sliding his glass across the table for him to fill it up. 

Remus takes a sip and makes a soft humming noise at the back of his throat. “Now that’s nice,” he smiles, slightly sheepish. 

Sirius nods his agreement. “So what was his name?” he asks, “Your dad?” 

“Lyall.” Remus scratches at the nape of his neck. “It means wolf in old Norse. So he was sort of called Wolf Wolf.” 

“And then he decided he’d carry on the tradition and call you Remus?” 

“Something like that.” 

Sirius is hit by a singular feeling; that he wants to know everything about the man sitting just across the table from him; that everything he has learned so far is interesting and exciting; that he wants _more_. He treats every snippet, every insight, with reverence, wraps it in silk and tucks it in some sacred part of his brain, lest he ever need it again. 

“Do you have any pets of your own?” he asks, annoyed straight away by the banality of the question. If Remus notices, he is too polite to say so. 

“I have a cat,” he says, smiling easily. “Her name is Edna.” 

Sirius forgets that it’s his turn to speak because he is watching long, slender fingers wrap around the spindly stem of a wine glass, watching full lips tinged pink, pursed in mild amusement.

He swallows. “I’m not mad keen on cats,” he supplies. 

Remus eyes him from across the table, his hair getting a little messier as the light outside disappears into a hazy dusk, fluffing up because of the rain and the heat of the place. “Nor was I, really.” He blinks, long and slow and graceful, and he is not unlike a cat himself, Sirius thinks. A big long cat with nice facial hair. “They grew on me. She came in as a stray. Far too young to be away from her mother, but nobody could find her. So I ended up rearing little Edna by hand, and... well, the rest is history. Now she’s my life’s companion. She keeps me honest.” 

So no girlfriend, Sirius’s brain adds, helpfully. But Sirius isn’t sure why it went there, given that it’s unrelated to the matter at hand. 

Remus glances down at the table, then back up at Sirius. “So, are you going to offer me one of those cigarettes you keep playing with in your pocket?” he asks coyly. He doesn’t seem to notice that Sirius is staring at a little freckle that sits just below his angular cheekbone, or if he does, he keeps it to himself. 

“Yes!” Sirius laughs, and it sounds tinny to his ears. “Sorry, I would have offered! I didn’t have you pegged as the type.” He slaps the packet down on the table and nods his head towards the back of the bar where there is an outdoor smoking area. They take their glasses and button up their jackets as a barrier to the cold. There is a patio heater which casts everything in an eerie red light and bathes them in artificial warmth. 

Remus lights up and takes a long drag, closing his eyes into it. “God, I love smoking. The amount I miss it is bordering on obscene.” 

“Mmm,” Sirius agrees. “I’m quitting any day now,” he quips. “Why did you?”

Remus’s eyes close over for a moment. “It’s not good for me,” he says eventually. And Sirius can’t help but clock the odd turn of phrase, because smoking isn’t exactly _good_ for anyone. 

Regardless, Remus looks good with a cigarette in hand, looks good when he draws its smoke into his mouth and rolls it around his tongue, looks good when he breathes it out slowly, humming. Sirius is beginning to think he looks fairly good no matter what he’s doing, but keeps the thought to himself as they stand, shoulders not quite touching, in a companionable silence. 

Back inside, the tops of Remus’s fingers are a sickly white, like there is no blood reaching them at all. Sirius points it out and he shrugs. “It’s okay. Just something that happens to me, when I’m cold.” 

“Oh,” Sirius says, because nothing else comes into his head. “Okay.” There is a silence that is a tad discomforting. “So you’ve told me about your dad,” he says eventually. “What about your mum, then? What does she do?” 

Remus smiles warmly, clearly pleased at the topic. “She is an interesting woman,” he says. He hums. “God, I don’t even know how to begin describing my mother.” 

Sirius leans forward, keen to catch what’s coming next. 

“She’s a solicitor,” Remus explains, “semi-retired. Fiercely intelligent, but a little... uncouth.” 

“Oh!” Sirius sits up straighter. “My friend Lily is a solicitor. Human rights stuff. She’s very good, by all accounts. At least, she always comes home with a smile on her face, and she makes sure there’s always a supply of the expensive ham in the fridge.” He scratches at his forehead. “So why uncouth?” 

Remus is still smiling. “She’s outrageously embarrassing,” he explains. “My father was a vicar. And I went through a phase in my youth where I was really into church; did all the youth club stuff and it was basically my whole social life. One night, she came to pick me up in her nightie, slippers and all, and strolled into the hall like it was nothing, hair in curlers and breasts ill-supported.” 

Sirius snorts. 

“She is a funny one, really. Like, on one level, she’s everything that second wave feminism fought for. She had a great job, a family life, went to university, and she was always the breadwinner of my parents. But she has odd ideas about things, really. She’s no pushover, but in lots of ways, she’s quite old-fashioned.” He smiles softly and shrugs, almost imperceptibly. 

“Did she remarry?” Sirius asks. 

Remus’s face lights up. “Oh, yes. Enter my stepfather. His name is Barry. He runs his own business selling vacuum cleaners and he’s a bit of a bigot but he sort of means well?” His face creases up, like he’s really trying to find the positives in a terrible situation. 

“Very convincing,” Sirius smirks. 

“They’ve been together for so long now,” Remus says, smiling. “At first it was dreadful, but I think over time, the three of us have reached an accord. We all respect each others’ differences, and we try to ignore the outright incompatibilities.” 

“Well, if that’s not family, I don’t know what is.” 

“Quite,” Remus sniffs. 

And that’s when a gaggle of young people drifts in, ordering vodkas and coke and crowding around the jukebox.

“Oh no,” Sirius rolls his eyes in mock disgust. “Youths.” 

Remus quirks an eyebrow. “ _You_ are a youth.” 

“I’m twenty-five,” Sirius corrects haughtily. “A proper adult in anyone’s books.” 

Remus grins, and dimples fill his cheeks once more. “My mistake,” he says, but there’s no nastiness to it, and Sirius’s belly fills with warmth. 

Music floods into the room, and Sirius takes the opportunity to take several sips of his neglected wine:

_I don’t mind you coming here. And wasting all my time. ‘Cos when you’re standing oh so near, I kind of lose my mind. It’s not the perfume that you wear. It’s not the ribbons in your hair. I don’t mind you coming here. And wasting all my time._

Remus chuckles to himself and his mouth scrunches up in thought. 

“What?” Sirius asks, but Remus just shakes his head, smiling wryly and surveying him over his glass. 

\--

On Sunday, Sirius and James go to Hobbycraft because James has run out of post-its and his school is so woefully underfunded that he has to buy his own. 

“God, look at these!” James enthuses. “So many different kinds of post-it.” He runs his fingers over a pack that is shaped like a thought bubble, and eventually pops it in his basket. 

Sirius grins at him, fondness threatening to bubble over. “Jimmy, do you remember when we were young? Back when we used to enthuse about pussy over post-its?” 

James turns to him, hair an impenetrable mop on top of his head. “I do. Ghastly, wasn’t it?”

A huge, silly giggle bubbles out of Sirius. “A bit,” he admits. 

“I think it was because the pussy seemed so unattainable. Now it’s a routine occurrence, the post-its take the biscuit.” 

Sirius scoffs. “Speak for yourself.” 

“How are you feeling now?” James asks, pondering aloud whether he can justify buying miniature whiteboards for the whole class. He is, Sirius knows, referring to the fact that Sirius has a hangover the size of the Sahara, and a mouth just as dry: two bottles with Remus had somehow turned into three, and Sirius had got home to find James and Lily still awake, just in time to regale them with the story of his evening, breathless and enthusiastic. 

“Bit squiffy,” Sirius admits. “Wine gives me le grande hangover.” 

“I still can’t believe you went out with your vet. This is a new level of game, even for you.” 

“We didn’t go _out_. It was just an organic sort of bubbling over of our daily interaction,” Sirius insists. 

James raises an eyebrow. 

“He’s interesting,” Sirius shrugs. “It was fun.” 

“Right,” James smirks. “But you didn’t go out.” 

“Right,” Sirius repeats, nodding vigorously. “Nothing like that.” 

They have plans to meet Lily at some stately home not too far away: it’s sunny and crisp, and the sort of early spring day that lends itself to a stroll between box hedges in some ridiculous, grandiose gardens. 

When they arrive, a woman in her seventies ushers them into the carpark. ‘Volunteer steward,’ her badge reads, and she flounders all over them as they do their tried and tested charming double act. 

“Thank you, Hilda,” Sirius says smoothly, flashing her his best grin. “Keep doing what you’re doing.” 

She dithers herself away and they park themselves on a bench to wait for Lily. There is a goat that patters up to them and Sirius tries to get it to chew on James’s shoelaces. 

When Lily shows up, James has him in a headlock and she sits herself down, wordlessly, and waits for them to finish. 

“Sorry to interrupt,” she says wryly, once she knows they know she’s there. 

“Sirius was showing his usual reckless abandon for my possessions and general wellbeing,” James explains, taking Lily’s hand and settling it in his lap. 

Sirius huffs. “ _Sirius_ met a goat and thought he was cool, so offered up his friend’s possessions and general wellbeing as a sacrifice to his goaty brilliance.”

Lily sighs. “Have you at least bought the tickets?” she asks, drumming her fingers on the hollow wood of the bench.

Sirius and James exchange a look. They have not bought the tickets. Lily releases a huge sigh and shakes her head, but she’s smiling, if you look hard enough.


	4. Chapter 4

It’s a dreary Monday morning when Sirius next steps through the door to the veterinary practice. His lovely, expensive work coat is covered with a sheen of drizzle. It’s made of angora wool and when it gets wet it smells excessively of soggy dog. He has a feeling it’s going to be a dull day at work; all admin and excessive toilet breaks to pass the time, but he’s heartened by the prospect of seeing Remus, who, knowingly or not, has a tendency to act as a tonic to mediocre days like this one. 

But when he gets there, there’s no sign of Remus. He heads to the back room, but no. He wonders whether he’s slightly late, whether he might have already started his morning consultation, but he checks the clock and he’s right on time. 

Something is off. Everything is wrong.

Sirius doesn’t know what to do. He has brought Remus a coffee - the proper stuff from the place with the Russell Tovey guy - and ends up just standing in the back room, holding two cups and looking unmistakably like the clueless twat he definitely is. 

And he knows, theoretically, that Remus probably does get some days off, but he doesn’t think he was planning on being away from work today. He’s sure that he said he would see him on Monday, but he’s not fucking _here_ , and Sirius’s mind goes into overdrive. 

Feigning nonchalance, he saunters up to Mandy on reception and casually asks her where he is. 

“Not here,” she supplies. 

“Right. Yes, I can see that,” he says calmly. “It’s just that he didn’t mention he was going to be away, you see. And I’ve got to... err, discuss Paddy’s treatment plan with him.” 

He isn’t sure why it’s so bothersome to him that Remus isn’t there. There’s no real logic to the matter. All Sirius knows is that he was counting on being able to give him the cup of coffee; he does owe him one, after all, and now the debt continues to go unsettled. 

“Sorry, Mr Black. I can’t give you any more information. Dr Fox is filling in today and she will be perfectly able to discuss Paddy’s treatment with you instead.” Mandy coolly smooths her hair down and her long fingernails clatter against the keys of her keyboard as she decides that she is done with the conversation.

Sirius huffs. “But is something wrong? Has something happened? Is he unwell?” 

“Sorry, Mr Black. I can’t give you any more information,” she repeats, unmoved. 

Sirius flounces to the back room once more. He takes up his seat in front of Paddy’s cage and sulks alone, still holding both coffees and sipping at them indiscriminately. All this caffeine means he will crash later, like a child coming down from a sugar rush. 

Oh well.

A woman comes into the room and sniffs a little when she sees him sat on the floor. “Oh, good morning.” She is wearing a badge which says ‘Dr Fox’, and scrubs that are just a touch too white. 

“Hi,” he nods, turning back to face Paddy, not in the mood to converse. 

The woman has a severe blonde hairstyle and the dismissive air of someone who doesn’t speak to humans all that much. His suspicions are confirmed when she says “You’re sat on the floor, like he’s something unsavoury, and moves around him to inspect a giant continental rabbit with an eye infection. 

“We haven’t met.” Sirius decides that none of this is her fault. He does, after all, want to ensure continuity in Paddy’s treatment, and he may do well to get this new vet on side. “I’m Sirius, and this is Paddy.” 

“I’m aware,” she says brusquely. And, alright, it’s not as though Remus could exactly be described as _warm_ , but at least he puts on a good enough act. “Nice to meet you,” she adds, and his shoulders relax a tad. “We’re doing very well.” 

“Sorry, who is doing very well? You and I?” He flounders. “You and the rabbit?” 

“We,” she repeats. “By which I mean Paddy.” 

He hopes his face doesn’t bely his confusion, but he can’t really understand why she would speak about him in such an odd way. He wonders if she does this with all the animals: _we’ve_ got a temperature, _we’ve_ got a urinary tract infection, _we’ve_ eaten all of the chocolates from under the Christmas tree and unfortunately, _we_ now have to have our stomach pumped. 

Do we? Do we really?

Bizarre.

“Right, okay. Can I let him out?” Sirius asks, shifting his hand towards the cage, expecting a response to the affirmative. 

“No, I’m afraid not,” she says sternly. “Health and safety.” 

He thinks she’s joking at first, but her mouth is set in a firm line and nothing in her manner shifts. 

“Oh,” he says, getting flustered now. “Sorry, I just-- Remus lets me.”

Her mouth quirks up at the corner. “Yes, well Dr Lupin does have a bit of a reputation for bending the rules,” she says, a little softer. And Sirius is surprised at that, because he thinks that Remus is quite a stickler for the rules, actually, but he supposes he’s only had limited exposure to him and his rule bending at this point.

“I didn’t think he was going to be off today. Do you know if he’s okay?” he asks in a last-ditch attempt to extract the information he craves. 

“Sorry,” she says, finally making eye contact for a moment. “I really can’t say.” 

Their conversation doesn’t get much easier, and he leaves fifteen minutes earlier than he normally would, unable to escape the feeling that he is just getting in Dr Fox’s way.

As he’s leaving, he overhears a conversation between two deaf old ladies he recognises as regular customers. 

“It’s a shame lovely Dr Lupin isn’t here for your daily hunky fix, Dorothy,” the smaller woman points out. “Oh, if I were thirty years younger!” 

“I know, Barb. He and that delicious bottom of his really do have a way of making a dull day much brighter!” They both laugh filthily, and Sirius is sure they think they’re being much quieter than they are. He shoots them a glare they probably don’t deserve and lets the door slam a little harder than is polite. 

Sirius bristles all the way to work and he can’t quite work out why. But he knows it’s something to do with the comment about the bottom, and by extraction, the man it’s attached to. And for some reason, he’s rattled because those two old ladies _fancy_ Remus, and he’s not sure why it bothers him quite so much. 

It’s not because he disagrees, necessarily. About the bottom, that is. He is not impervious to the attraction of a nice arse, and in some academic sense, he has certainly noticed that Remus is in possession of one. But up until this morning, he thought he was the only one to have cottoned onto the fact. To find out that others have been looking at his (surprisingly shapely) rear is disquieting and... icky. 

And really, if he thinks about it properly, he can’t help but feel that _he_ wants to be the only one looking at and appreciating Remus’s arse. 

And, _oh_ , there it is. 

He pulls into the car park, just in time for his little Eureka! moment. Because the reason, he realises almost painfully slowly, that he has noticed such things as his vet’s arse, his lips, his eyelashes, the sharp way he pronounces the letter ‘s’, the faded scar he has on his wrist, that lovely little freckle on his cheek, is, quite obviously, because he has a thing for him. 

A big fat thing. 

A comically enormous, obese mammoth of a thing. 

And he’s not stupid. He hasn’t been completely blind to the fact that he spends a significant proportion of his day thinking about Remus: that he saves little snippets from his week to tell him, that he replays their conversations when he’s bored at work, that he accidentally pictured him when he was having a routine wank the other day. But still, he had assumed that he was a little bit obsessed with him, and thought about him all the time, solely because he was a bit different: a bit older and wiser and more intelligent - a refreshing change from his fantastic but immature group of friends. 

But he knows now that he thinks about him so much because he _wants_ him. And that changes everything. 

He sprints into the office and leaps into his chair which skids dangerously across the floor. “Marlene!” he yells, prompting Linda from Accounts to scowl at them and tut. “I’ve had a giant fucking revelation! And honest to God, I am completely blindsided, astounded, dumbstruck!” He heaves out a dramatic sigh. “I think-- I think I really fancy my vet!” 

Marlene, by now completely accustomed to his histrionics, turns slowly to face him. She is worldly wise and unmoved by his performance. “Yes,” she says wryly. “Of course you fancy your vet, Sirius. The whole fucking world knows you fancy your vet.” 

“Well you could have _told_ me!” He throws his arms up in disbelief and smacks his head down onto the table, letting out a huge groan that makes the wood vibrate. 

“Not my job, babe,” she laughs softly. “Now, don’t forget. It’s the opening of my exhibition on the seventeenth. Be there or suffer a fate worse than death.” 

“You’re so scary,” he says admirably. “Of course I’ll be there.” 

Marlene, amongst other prowesses, is a talented and unique artist. She also does burlesque dancing, pottery and chess, and has been known to dabble in a spot of axe throwing. But it’s her art that is most impressive. Her paintings are violent, sexy outbursts of colour that Sirius likes very much but doesn’t understand at all. He has one on his bedroom wall, and he thinks it is quite the statement piece. 

He pictures it hanging proudly on the wall of his own home one day. 

\--

It’s two weeks before there is any sign that Remus is still alive. It comes in the form of a phone call to reception that Sirius only half overhears as he’s fruitlessly trying to teach Paddy how to sit on command through the impenetrable fortress of his cage. 

“Okay,” Mandy says in a bored voice. “Yes, okay, I’ll let Hannah know.” More silence. “Yes, no problem. Oh yes, he’s doing fine. Mange has cleared right up and he’s gaining weight.” 

Sirius makes his way to the doorway so he can watch her face as she speaks. He really hopes the person on the other end of the line is who he thinks it is. 

There is a pause while the other person speaks and Mandy’s mouth lifts into a knowing smile. She glances up and smirks at Sirius. “Mmm. Yes, he’s fine, too.” Another pause. “Yes, I’ll tell her. It’s all fine, Remus. No need to hurry back. Okay, now. Take care.” 

Sirius stares at her for thirty seconds after she has hung up the phone. 

“Can I help you?” she asks, looking up, amused. 

He shakes his head and returns to the dog. 

Dr Fox is in a good mood today and she lets him open the cage just enough to pet him, but despite his best charm offensive, she stands impossibly firm on the idea that he should be let out of his cage. But Sirius derives great comfort from the fact that there’s always tomorrow. Or the next day.

After work, he has plans to meet James in a dive bar that happens to have good music and free pool and an ostensibly gay barman who looks like a young Marlon Brando, on whom Sirius has had designs for at least a year, with little to no traction. He doesn’t _like_ him, per se, but he has fantastic lips, and he wouldn’t mind spending an evening with them to see what they could do. 

He gives his armpits a quick whiff as he gets into the car, but they far from pass the sniff test. He texts James just before he knows he will set off: _Hey babe. Pls bring deodorant. Ich bin stinky xx_

James does bring deodorant. But it’s Lily’s and it smells like a delicious island retreat, and Sirius isn’t all that confident in its anti-perspirant properties. Regardless, he applies it liberally and picks up the largest of the pool cues. 

“Overcompensating,” James grumbles, but he knows that’s not strictly true. He’s seen Sirius’s junk more times than either of them would care to count, so he must know that Sirius has a perfectly proportioned and aesthetically pleasing appendage. He makes a mental note to remind him of the fact later, after they’ve had sufficient beer-based lubrication. 

A woman in her fifties walks by and James’s eyes are fixed on her the whole way. 

Sirius snorts. “Stop checking out old women,” he says. 

James raises an eyebrow. “I wasn’t actually. I thought she only had one arm but it was behind her back the whole way.” 

“God,” Sirius laughs breathlessly. “Well on that note, I need a beer,” and he takes himself off to the bar, pool cue still in hand. He juggles his way back with two pints and is disappointed (but not too much so) that the lippy barman is nowhere to be seen. 

They embark on six games of pool, and when Sirius wins all six without breaking a sweat, James flops over the table as if he’s been stabbed. “Enough, no more. ‘Tis not so sweet now as it was before.” 

After that, they agree to call it a day, choosing instead to settle in a booth. 

“You spanked me,” James declares, shimmying down into the flaking leather of the seat. 

“You wish,” Sirius winks, taking a swig of beer. “So how is the Mr Potter fan club coming along, then? Still gaining traction?” 

James rolls his eyes. “Alas, I fear I have been pipped to the post by David sodding Priestly. I mean, he’s attractive, yes. Perfectly serviceable arse, but dull as dishwater.” 

Sirius beams. “Quel dommage.” 

“But it’s quite touching, really. The Hotter than Potter movement was more committed than I could have hoped. And I think I’ll emerge top five, so there’s no shame in that.”

“No, indeed,” Sirius laughs. He fiddles with the strap of his watch and breathes in deeply. “So did Marls tell you about my revelation?” 

“That you want to climb your vet? Yes, she might have mentioned it.” James places his pint dead centre in his beer mat and eyes Sirius carefully. “Do you know what you’re doing?” 

“Absolutely not.” 

“Does he like you back?” 

“Absolutely not.”

“Are you sure you’re not going to get your tiny little heart broken?” 

“Absolutely not.” 

An uninhibited laugh bursts out of James and then he sighs, long suffering and put upon. “Right. Well, you know I’ll be here to pick up the pieces when it all goes tits up.” 

“I do,” Sirius nods. “And I appreciate it, dear.”

“You always do,” James grins. “But you’re really into him?” he asks, surveying him closely. 

“I think I am, yeah. I don’t know what it is but I come over all unnecessary for him.” 

James huffs a laugh out of his nose. 

“Except there’s a minor problem. I don’t know where he is,” Sirius confides. “He’s not been there for a couple of weeks and I think something might be wrong.” 

James, ever kind and understanding, fixes him with a soft expression. “I’m sure he’s okay. I’m sure he’ll return to provide you with plenty of wank fodder in the near future,” he says. But Sirius doesn’t believe it. He whips his phone out of his pocket then frowns and puts it back. “So were you subjected to Pete’s latest car tales?” 

“Oh, the wiper juice conundrum? Unfortunately, yes.” Sirius sighs. “Who even describes it as wiper juice?” 

“Pete. Pete does. And he bored me for a good fifteen minutes yesterday because he’s acquired a desoldering pump.” 

“A desoldering pump,” Sirius repeats slowly. 

“Yes, apparently it’s a vital piece of kit.” 

“A desoldering pump.” Sirius nods. “He’s a unique sort of fellow, isn’t he, our Pete?”

“Unique is right,” James huffs. “He was asking me how to make crabapple cider the other day. And then he spent the best part of an hour ranting about some woman named Tanya at the tip who’s apparently got it in for him.” 

“Poor Pete,” Sirius sniggers. “He can add her to the list, then. Along with Bella at the hairdressers and Sticky Vicky from Tesco.” 

“But it’s definitely the women who are the problem,” James observes. 

“Oh, absolutely. Must be the women.” 

A man in a flat cap walks in with a huge German Shepherd with a bushy tail. “I was just thinking there was a dearth of dogs in here tonight,” Sirius grins. “Soon, we’ll be able to bring Paddy in and teach him all about pool.” He pauses and looks at James for a moment. “Maybe best that I teach him,” he adds. James flings a ketchup packet at him and kicks him under the table. 

When they leave, after two pints too many, and step out into the frigid air, Sirius shudders bodily. “It’s ruddy bloody cold.” 

“Isn’t it meant to be spring now?” James agrees. “Careful, it’s icy. You’ll fall over.” 

“I’m not going to fall over. I’m very dexterous, you see.” 

He takes three steps and predictably, inevitably, oh-so-comically, falls flat on his arse. 

\--

“Are you happy?” 

“What?” Sirius realises that he forgot to listen for what might have been five whole minutes while his cousin talked at length about her daughter Nym’s latest obsession with a boy at nursery she calls ‘Nigel’, whose real name is actually Jack, because he was looking out of the window at a squirrel. 

Andromeda rolls her eyes. “Did you catch any of that?” 

“No,” Sirius admits. “No, I lost you after you got to the spinach incident, I’m afraid.” 

She tuts and pushes the plate of brownies his way. They are sat in the huge kitchen in her family home in the Cotswolds. It’s just her, Ted and Nym, and their rescue greyhound Albie. She really has created a fantastic life for herself, suitably removed from their dreadful shared family. The window is propped open, filling the room with chilly air and birdsong, and Sirius admires the way she has grown up but managed not to grow dull. Her hair is dyed jet black and she has wispy tattoos that wend their way leisurely up her arms. She’s recently retrained as a midwife, and there’s a wonderful pragmatism about her that Sirius can only aspire to: he’s many things but pragmatic isn’t often one of them. 

“I asked if you were happy,” she repeats. “I worry.” 

“Everyone seems to worry about me but me,” he winks. 

“Yes, that’s what I worry about,” she sighs. “Are you eating properly? You look very skinny.” 

“I’m eating,” he shrugs. “Define properly?” 

She tuts again and takes a perfect corner bite from one of the brownies, humming in satisfaction at her own work. 

“I’m happy, Andi.” She raises an eyebrow. “Honestly! Things are going quite well. You know, I might not be _married_ and _settled_ like you, but I have a better than average social life and a steady job, and an almost dog. Things are good.”

“I’m not even going to ask about the almost dog,” she laughs. 

Ted strolls into the kitchen: he’s rosy cheeked and affable, and he plants a loud kiss to the top of Andromeda’s hair. He pulls up a seat and takes two brownies, unrepentant. 

“You’ll get fat,” she says dryly. 

“And you’ll still fancy me,” he announces proudly. She doesn’t deny it. 

“So have you seen any of the Black clan lately?” she asks Sirius, buttoning her cardigan up. 

“Not for ages,” he says flatly. “For the best, I think. How about you?” 

“Oh, Bella came round last week, didn’t she love?” Ted nods absently. “She is getting a divorce.” 

“Again?” Sirius winces. His cousin Bellatrix is ten years older than him and this will be the fourth marriage she’s had that hasn’t worked out. “And how is our stone cold Medusa these days?” 

“Suitably unstable,” Andromeda laughs coolly and for a chilling moment bears an uncanny resemblance to his mother. “Apparently she has met someone new. What did she say he was called, Ted? John?” 

“Tom,” he affirms through a mouthful of cake. 

“I wonder if Tom knows he is doomed to a grizzly fate of being buried underneath her patio?” Sirius muses. 

“It would be kinder for us to warn him. While he can still fake his own death and defect to Argentina,” Andromeda beams. “Apparently, he’s filthy rich, this one. And just as much of a sociopath as she is, by all accounts. So perhaps this really will be the one.” 

“We must hope so,” Sirius laughs. “He’s a braver man than I, that’s for sure.” 

A tiny little rocket of a girl bounds into the room, right into Sirius’s lap. “Hello, young Nym!” 

“Hello, old Sirius!” 

“Oi, less of the old please. What did I teach you?” 

She scrunches her face in concentration. “Hello, perpetually young and handsome Sirius,” she says slowly. He barks a laugh and launches a tickle attack. 

“Much better. Do you want some of my brownie?” 

She nods sternly, not too young to appreciate the importance of the last brownie on the plate. He hands her the generous half and she’s grinning smugly, retreating to her favourite seat on the other side of the room to devour it with the attention it deserves. 

He finally gets his hair cut that afternoon. His usual place is full so he tries a new salon in which the hairdressers are almost _too_ attractive. His woman, Kylie, gives him a scalp massage as she washes his hair, and when he has to bite his lip to keep himself from moaning, he realises that he’s been far too starved of human contact. 

“You have lovely hair,” she says later as she’s running her fingers through it to check the length. “So thick and shiny.” 

“What are you doing later, Kylie?” he asks. “Would you like to get a drink with me?” 

She does, and they do, and afterwards, she takes him back to hers for a nightcap and a very lovely naked fumble which officially breaks the longest dry spell of his adulthood and has him whistling in the shower for days (but doesn’t quite achieve the aim of getting a certain absent vet out of his thoughts). 

He and Kylie exchange numbers, but he knows that neither is disappointed when the other doesn’t get in touch; it was what it was, and he will have to remember to book in at his usual salon in advance next time.

\--

Sirius is late because he has written what he hopes is a disarming and impenetrable argument which will convince Dr Hannah Fox that he should be allowed to let Paddy out of his cage. He’s used words like ‘stimulation’ and ‘wellbeing’, and steered clear of making this about anything but the good of the dog, while also guaranteeing that he will be there to closely monitor the situation and ensure the safety of Paddy and all other animals in the care of the practice at any given time. 

It’s typed up and spell checked and everything. He runs through it in his head once more as he bustles into the practice, head down in concentration and knocks into one tall vet who smells of talcum powder and grunts at the impact. 

“Shit! Shit, fuck! Sorry!” He holds Remus’s shoulders and frantically searches his face for any sign of harm. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?” 

Remus laughs through his nose. “Only because I’m made of glass,” he says, gently prising Sirius’s hands from his shoulders and letting them go so they fall back to his sides. 

He doesn’t look great. His skin is a sort of pale grey colour and his lips are dry and chapped. There are circles under his eyes that are so dark they look like bruises. “You’re not well,” he says, face furrowing in deep concern. “Remus, what’s wrong?” 

“I’m not well,” Remus nods. “Or at least, I wasn’t well. I’m feeling quite a bit better now.” 

“Is it-- should you be here?” Sirius asks, fidgeting, uncomfortable seeing what he’s now figured out is the newfound object of his affections looking like he’s unravelling. He wants to ask what’s the matter. He wants to smooth out the tiredness that lines his face. He wants to take him home, put him in his bed and bring him cup after cup of Lily’s posh sleepytime tea and bowls of nutritious broth until he looks more up to the task of returning to work full time. 

“I think so.” Remus steadies himself on the higher cages and blinks through heavy eyes. “Time will tell, I suppose.” 

“Can I do anything? Want me to get you a coffee?” 

Remus shakes his head, almost imperceptibly. “Given that you’re pretty much the only human being I’ve seen in the last three weeks, you’d be doing me an even greater service if you were to regale me with some tales from the outside world.” 

“Oh, right, okay.” He searches his brain. “Well, Lily; you know, my solicitor friend?” 

Remus nods, unlatches Paddy’s cage and pulls up a seat. Paddy bounds over to both of them and Sirius is certain that he likes Remus almost as much as he does, judging by the over-enthusiastic greeting. He’s a bit concerned given that Remus currently looks as though a light breeze would blow him over, but he copes well enough and he resumes his story. 

“She is in the running for Young Lawyer of the Year, right? Apparently it’s a Big Deal, so she was really chuffed. But they’re having this big, swanky awards ceremony in London and the dress code is ‘black tie or traditional dress’, because they’re being all inclusive and making sure they aren’t leaving anyone out. Which is fine. But James, her boyfriend and all-round bad egg, is going with her and he is insisting on wearing this full Indian garb that he got for his cousin’s wedding. She’s threatening to leave him at home and it’s been full on war in our house for the last three days.” 

“Who will triumph, do you think?” 

“Oh, James. For sure. She always gives in eventually, and he’ll get immense satisfaction from the knowledge that all the photos will showcase his outrageous outfit forever.” 

“I guess traditional doesn’t necessarily mean outrageous?” 

“It’s made of gold leaf, and he has matching shiny shoes” Sirius grins. 

“Ah.” 

“Oh, and, not to brag or anything, but I got a perfect game in pool.” 

“Impressive,” Remus smiles, settling into the chair as if he genuinely wants to hear all of Sirius’s stupid shit. Sirius just grins through it all, pleased as punch that he’s _back_. 

“ _And_ , my errant brother got in touch to tell me he’d pulled Princess Eugenie at the funeral of some diplomat.”

Remus laughs properly at that. “Oh, so that was worthy of breaking the deadlock?” 

“Apparently, yes. Things are still a bit frosty, but it’s progress at least.” 

Remus nods contentedly. 

“I had sex,” Sirius blurts. And it’s a massive over-disclosure, he knows, but for some reason he feels the need to talk about it. 

Remus’s mouth spasms, then straightens into a neutral expression. “Oh,” he says softly. “Good for you?” 

“I think it probably was,” Sirius nods. _But I wish it had been with you_ , his brain supplies. “I’m not sure celibacy suited me all that much.” He tears at a tissue in his pocket. “It was just a casual thing,” he adds, wanting him to know that outright. “She gave me a great haircut.” 

Remus laughs for five whole minutes, even though it seems like it pains him. “I was thinking your hair looked pretty good.” 

And because Sirius is in an emotionally overwrought state, his stomach flips and he finds himself making eyes at Remus. He knows the eyes have a certain power, honed over the years. Too many people have told him he has lovely eyes for it to be a lie. He knows they are a weapon to be used responsibly, and right now he’s abusing that responsibility flagrantly. 

Something dark flashes behind Remus’s eyes. It’s a something that makes Sirius want him all the more, but he knows he needs to proceed with caution, so he puts his slutty eyes to bed and replaces them with a cautious little smile. Remus returns his smile and they look at one another for what might be just slightly too long.

“I didn’t know if you were okay, and nobody would tell me,” Sirius says, just as Remus is hauling himself off to his first consultation with a tortoise named Shelley. “But I’m glad you’re here and sort of in one piece.” 

“And me,” Remus laughs softly, standing in the doorway, tired eyes making their best attempt at some sparkle. He turns to leave. 

“Oh, and Remus?” He stops and turns his head. “I really enjoyed our drink. When you’re feeling better, I’d be up for a repeat. If you’d like to.” 

“I’d like that,” he says. And Sirius notices that he has a hole in his jumper, and he’s so bloody lovely, he doesn’t know what to do with himself. Remus seems to forget for a moment that he’s heading out of the door, because he stands there, suspended between two rooms for a moment. He scratches his head, looks down at his shoes and smiles sheepishly. “See you later, Sirius.” 

“Can’t wait,” Sirius grins. It’s an undeniable truth that bursts out of him and he’s powerless to stop it. 

Whatever. 

He smiles the whole way home.


	5. Chapter 5

On Friday, Remus is wearing glasses and Sirius’s heart does that flip-floppy thing again. He really should go to the doctors about that, he thinks absently as he inspects the tortoiseshell frames with a level of interest that even he is struggling to pass off as casual now. But even if he did go to the doctors about the flip-floppy thing, what would he say? 

_I have a potentially fatal arrhythmia that only rears its ugly head when my dog’s ridiculously-sexy-but-in-a-bit-of-a-strange-way’s vet is in the vicinity?_

No, that’s absurd.

“I like your glasses,” he says quickly, in case the silence has stretched on too long. “Very sophisticated.” 

“That’s me,” Remus scoffs. He takes Paddy out of his cage and gives him the run of the place. 

“How are you feeling?” Sirius asks, once the dog has stopped jumping up at the pair of them. 

“A bit like I’ve ploughed into a brick wall head first,” Remus confesses, leaning into the support of the cages. He’s pale, still, but his eyes are bright. “I’ve got more energy but my joints aren’t playing ball: they’re all stiff and sore. But Edna’s taking care of me well enough. And I’m glad to be back. There’s only so much ‘Extreme Makeover Home Edition’ one can watch without losing one’s mind.” 

“Remus,” he chides, “there’s no need to watch daytime TV these days. Netflix exists. Do you not have it? You can use my login details if you like.” 

Remus’s mouth twists up at the side. “I just got a smart TV actually. My faithful old one finally bit the dust. Probably a good job, really. It’s been flashing in one corner for months and it’s been driving me mad.”

“There we are, then!” Sirius grins. “I’ll write the details down on a piece of paper for you and bring it tomorrow.” 

“Actually, I have the day off tomorrow,” Remus explains and Sirius’s stomach twists with disappointment. “And I was wondering, if you didn’t have plans--” 

“I don’t!” Sirius gabbles. 

“Whether you wanted to do something?” Remus finishes calmly, tilting his head to one side, just like Paddy does when he’s interested in something. “I’m not really up for a pub yet. Do you-- err, do you want to come to mine?”

And, _oh_ , everything just got twenty times better. 

“Sounds good,” Sirius nods, trying frantically hard to play it cool. 

“All right then. The weather’s meant to be nice, so you can come and see the garden. And I’ll cook, yes?” 

“Yes. Okay then.” 

Remus scribbles his address onto a piece of scrap paper and Sirius tucks it carefully into his wallet. He grins all the way to work, grins even as he fails to make a sale, grins when he gets back to the office and Marlene badgers him for all the details. 

“This is a date,” she declares with absolute authority after he tells her what little he knows of tomorrow’s plans. 

He scoffs. “It’s not a date, Marls. It’s just two people who enjoy each other’s company, hanging out at the weekend.”

“And tell me, what’s your definition of a date? Because that sounds an awful lot like a date to me.” She leans back in her desk chair and stretches her feet out to rest on her desk. 

“He’s such a bloody closed book,” he whines. “Like, it was him who suggested going for that drink, and him who suggested we do something tomorrow. But I still don’t know if he actually thinks I’m just a massive wankpot.” 

“I think you’re a massive wankpot and I still choose to spend time with you.” She runs a hand through her hair and rattles off an email, biting her lip in concentration. 

“Yes, but you don’t fancy me.” 

“No,” she agrees, and shudders dramatically, which Sirius thinks is probably an unnecessarily cruel flourish. 

“God, he’s so weirdly sexy I can’t even function. I am genuinely _consumed_ by him.”

“Sounds healthy.”

“I don’t even know if he’s gay.” 

“You know,” she eyes him carefully. “You could always ask him. Whether he’s gay, whether he likes you, what this is to him.” 

“Marlene McKinnon, that is, without a doubt, the most ridiculous thing you have ever said,” Sirius declares. He gets up to make them both a coffee.

\-- 

“Can I have your number?” Sirius asks Remus, early into their... meeting the next day. “Only, it was a bit rubbish not being able to get in touch with you when you were ill, and if it happens again, I’d like to be able to just text and make sure you’re okay.” 

They are sat in the garden of Remus’s home: a double-fronted terrace on a tree-lined main road in an up-and-coming area of Bristol which is still not over-gentrified. The garden is deceptively huge, though you wouldn’t know it from the front of the house. There is a gnarled old apple tree in the centre of the lawn, which leads down to a vegetable patch and a Victorian-style greenhouse. There are flower beds and fruit trees, and birds that skit about their heads as they drink their tea. 

“Yes,” Remus says without pause. “Here, hand me your phone.” Sirius does, and Remus keys his number into the contacts, mouth twitching. He places it back down on the table and picks his mug up with both hands, blowing gently on its steaming contents. 

“I love your garden,” Sirius says after a long pause. 

Remus hums into his tea. “Thank you. It’s taken me a long time to get it just how I want it. But I think we’re finally getting somewhere.” He glances over and locks eyes with Sirius. In the bright sunlight, Sirius is even less sure what colour his eyes are: there’s brown in there, and yellow, and grey. Whatever they are, it’s his new favourite colour. “Let me know when you’re ready for the tour.” 

When Remus had first opened the door and Sirius realised that he was dressed in casual clothing, he nearly turned around and went back home. Seeing Remus in jeans, a stripy t-shirt, a baggy cardigan and a pair of Vans had almost been too much to take. But now, after about half an hour, Sirius has got used to the idea that he exists outside of his workplace, and he spends his time covertly checking him out, appreciating how much younger and more carefree he seems in his natural habitat. 

“Ready when you are,” he grins, slurping the last of his tea and slamming his cup on the table, somewhat harder than intended. 

Remus finishes his own beverage with a touch more caution, but is no less enthusiastic as they amble down the length of the garden together. 

“April is the best month,” Remus explains. “All the plants are coming to life again. I can’t think of anything better than seeing a plant you thought had perished over winter start to spring up new growth.” He kicks at a toadstool with his foot and leads them down to the raised beds. “There’s not much to see, yet,” he says, tightening the scarf tied loosely around his neck. “But I did all my sowing last weekend, and now there’s little seedlings starting to poke their heads out from their pots.” He gestures over to the greenhouse. “In a few weeks, I’ll have more veg plants than I know what to do with.” 

“So you just, like... plant a seed and it grows?” Sirius asks, peeking his head around the glass door to find rows of black pots.

“That is the general idea,” Remus teases. “But there is something quite marvellous about turning a packet of seeds from Wilko into an entire bed of the things you like eating most.” 

“And what are the things you like eating most? What’s growing chez Lupin?” 

“All sorts! Courgettes and beetroot and squash.” 

“Oh my!” 

“And tomatoes. More tomatoes than I ever know what to do with. So the neighbours tend to get a lot, and my freezer fills with soup that brightens up the winter months.” 

Sirius, whose allotted drawer in the freezer has only ever contained pizza and oven chips, feels like he’s being given a lens on a world he only knew existed because he once accidentally watched an episode of The Good Life. 

Looking around, Sirius knows that the garden is properly lovely, by anyone’s standards. There’s not a single thing he would change, from the flowers bursting messily from the boarders, to the patio area with its pizza oven and pots brimming with greenery, scattered almost randomly but in a way that gives the place a sort of disorganised order. 

“What’s that?” Sirius asks, pointing to a particularly alien-looking plant.

“Euphorbia.” 

“What’s that?” He points at another. 

“Aquilegia.” 

“What’s that?” 

“Sirius, that’s a daffodil. Call me a cynic, but I think you knew that one.” 

Sirius shrugs. He does know that one, actually, but it’s nice to hear Remus speak and he wants it to carry on. 

For April, it’s a warm day, but the chill sets in soon enough and Remus suggests they go inside to warm up. His fingers are doing that weird thing again, Sirius notices, as he watches Remus build a fire in the log burner. He would help, but he knows from extensive experience that he and fire do not mix, just like oil and water, or Pete and all womankind. 

So he curls up on the sofa and just watches Remus’s defective but skilful fingers as he places the kindling just so. 

“Do you like goat’s cheese?” 

It takes Sirius a moment to realise Remus is talking to him, so fixated is he with watching from his perch. Remus turns around and raises an eyebrow which shakes Sirius from filthy thoughts about Remus’s fingers and back into the room. 

“I like all cheese,” he affirms. 

Remus stands up and wipes his hands on his trousers. “Lovely. I was going to make these little filo tart things. You’ll like them, I think.” 

Sirius thinks he probably will, too. 

Somewhere along the way, a bottle of wine is opened, and Sirius finds that they have relocated to the kitchen where Remus is chopping things and talking to him about the amount of offspring two unneutered cats can produce in a lifetime. 

“So suddenly, you have these huge colonies of ferals who fight, sometimes to the death, but if not transmit feline leukaemia or immunodeficiency virus, and there’s nobody to treat them or foot the bill when they get really sick. It’s a travesty, really, because neutering a cat is the simplest operation there is, and prevention is so much better and kinder.”

He stops to pick up some crumbly cheese between finger and thumb and pops it cleanly into his mouth. He makes a fragile moaning sound at the back of his throat which gets Sirius hot around the collar. “God, you’ve got to try this.” 

He picks up another, larger piece of cheese and steps forward to where Sirius is sat at the breakfast bar on a wobbly stool, holds the cheese up towards his mouth, and when Sirius leans forward, slides it between his open lips. And there’s a glorious moment where his cool fingers are pressed lightly to Sirius’s mouth and he’s looking right at him. 

“Good, hmm?” He says in a low voice, not stepping out of his space but waiting for confirmation. 

“So good,” Sirius croaks, and he’s only half talking about the cheese. He coughs, and Remus takes a conspicuous step backwards. “Excuse me,” he babbles and hurries off to the loo where he stands for thirty seconds, willing what is a hugely embarrassing erection to go away. 

When he gets back to the kitchen, Remus is back in full swing, sticking his tongue out slightly as he concentrates on assembling the tarts. Sirius resumes his seat and takes a huge gulp of wine. 

“Remus,” he asks. “I won’t be offended if you tell me to fuck off...”

“I think this is how all the best questions start,” Remus grins. 

“Only, you said you were unwell. And I was wondering what was wrong.” 

“Ah,” Remus says. He slides the tart-laden baking tray into the oven and turns to face him, lips pursed in thought. He picks up his wine glass and sips at it carefully. “Systemic autoimmune disease of unknown aetiology.” He surveys Sirius over his glass. “That’s medical speak for they’re not quite sure.”

“Oh,” Sirius breathes helplessly. 

“It’s not for lack of trying on the doctors’ part. My doctor has made it her life’s mission to get me a diagnosis.” 

Sirius considers this for a moment. “But you’re so clever! Maybe if you did enough research, you could diagnose yourself?” 

“That way, a whole lot of anxiety lies.” Remus takes up the seat beside him and they both face the double doors looking out onto the patio and not at each other. “And I still might not get an answer.”

“How long have you been ill?”

“A couple of years.” 

“And the fingers? When you’re cold? Is that-”

“Yes.” 

“And the stiff joints?” 

“Rheumatoid arthritis. Or something a lot like it.”

Sirius nods, upset, though he’s not quite sure why. 

Remus, seeming to sense his disquiet, takes a breath before he speaks again. “I used to be a big runner. And it was gradual, but it got harder and harder. My joints hurt and I had chest pains, and suddenly I felt like this seventy year old man trying to heave myself across the park every day. It was like I’d lost all my vibrancy all of a sudden. So I went to see my doctor, who was pretty old fashioned, really, and he decided it was depression. But then when I kept going back, he noticed that I always had a fever, and my joints were hot and swollen, all classic autoimmune, and he referred me to a specialist.” 

“The same one you still see today?” 

“Yes. She took one look at me and was convinced I had lupus. By then, I had rashes and could barely drag myself to the waiting room, the pain was so severe. But she did every test under the sun and even though I’ve got all the symptoms: fatigue, joint pain, pericarditis, nothing came up to indicate lupus.”

Sirius takes a moment to digest what he’s being told. “So you’re just in limbo.”

“Sort of. Sort of not. The treatment is pretty much the same regardless, and it works well, mostly. But I get the occasional flare up.”

“Like last month?”

“Exactly. And when that happens, I just can’t do anything, really. Can’t work. Can’t sleep. I just have to lie here, good for nothing, and wait for it to pass. It always has so far.” He looks over at Sirius’s face which is scrunched in thought. Sirius, realising that he’s being watched, meets Remus’s eye in time to see him tucking an errant strand of hair behind his ear. They maintain eye contact and Sirius feels exposed, bare, sat in this kitchen, drinking this wine, looking at this man for too long. Remus’s mouth twitches into a small, secret sort of smile, and he looks back down at his glass. 

“I’m sorry about your disease,” Sirius says softly into the air between them. 

“I’m sorry about your face,” Remus replies, completely deadpan, face void of any expression at all. And then, a huge smile breaks over his face and a peal of laughter bubbles out of him. Sirius pulls a face and swats in his general direction, but he’s laughing too, and his cheeks are red, he knows, with the fresh air and the wine and the proximity. Remus has stopped laughing but his eyes are smiley and clear, his lips gently parted, and Sirius could kiss him now, he thinks; could kiss him, would kiss him, maybe even should kiss him, but then the oven timer dings and instead, he leaps up from his chair to check on the tarts. 

They eat in the lounge, where the fire is now roaring merrily. Edna the cat finally puts in an appearance and nudges at Sirius’s legs with her head until he relents and breaks off a bit of cheesy tart for her. 

“Cats are lactose intolerant,” Remus says, tutting. “She’s going to fart all night, you fiend. You mark my words.”

“Consider them marked,” Sirius grins. “Worth it because I’ve made a friend now.” 

“She only wants you for your dairy goods.” Remus puts his plate down on the table and leans back into the plush sofa. Sirius follows suit and he wonders if the expectation is that he should go home now, not wanting to outstay his welcome, but wanting even less to go home. He watches as Remus shuts his eyes for a second or two, then hums, content.

Edna makes a chirruping sound and jumps into the space between them. She extends a foot out and taps Sirius’s leg, as if to test the water, then steps elegantly onto his lap and begins to purr before making herself comfortable.

He’ll stay for a while, then. 

“So tell me about your tattoos.” Remus turns his head so that one cheek rests against the backrest, eyelashes fanning out against the fabric, and he’s looking at him again, in that way that makes his insides feel all jumbly. 

“Oh! I have seventeen,” Sirius grins and starts to roll up his sleeves. He points to an owl on his forearm. “This was the first one. Her name is Rhonda.”

“Sure,” Remus nods, eyes laughing. 

“And this is a phoenix. At the time, I thought it had all sorts of symbolism about rebirth and stuff, but now I just think it’s cool.” The bird is red and elegant with a wise look in its eye, and he personally thinks Enzo was on form that day. “This one, I got when I was phenomenally in love with my ex girlfriend, Petra.” He points to an etching of Al-Khazneh on his bicep which he still thinks is pretty lovely. 

“Ah, I like that one.” Remus lifts his hand as though he’s going to touch, then seems to change his mind and brings it back to his side. “Do you regret having marked yourself so permanently for someone you’re no longer with, though?” 

Sirius ponders this. “Nah,” he says after a beat. “I love it for what it all meant to me at the time, you know?” 

Remus nods quietly. “When did you break up?” 

“It’s been two and a bit years. God, sounds ages when I say it aloud - doesn’t feel that long.” He hums. “I thought she was the one.” He suspects the wine might be going to his head, candour coming easily. “She’s a phenomenal person. But I was too much: too brash, too reckless, and in the end she wanted someone more-”

“Straight?” Remus chips in. 

Sirius barks out a laugh. “I was going to say adult, but sure. Yours works too.” 

There’s a heavy pause where the only sound Sirius can hear is the crackling of the fire. In the flickering firelight, everything is soft and muted. Edna is snoring softly into the fabric of his trousers. 

“What about the train?” Remus asks, pointing at another etching; a silhouette of a steam train that travels the length of his forearm. 

“Ah, now that’s just because I really like steam trains. No deeper meaning there, I’m afraid. ” He grins cheekily and starts to undo the buttons of his shirt, careful not to disturb Edna’s slumber, feeling pretty brazen. “This is the latest one.” He pulls the fabric of his shirt to one side and exposes his chest, right down to the nipple, to show Remus the dragon in all its fiery glory. 

Remus’s eyes widen, like he doesn’t know quite what to make of this development, but then they land on the tattoo, and he considers it with his trademark precise approach. 

“Gosh,” he says eventually. “Now that’s a tattoo.” 

“I know,” Sirius grins. “Good, isn’t she?” 

Remus, eyes now flitting around the room, looking anywhere but at Sirius’s nipples says quietly “she is, rather.” 

Sirius clears his throat. “Better make myself decent; the neighbours will get ideas.” He hastily buttons his shirt and wonders whether he imagined the swelling of Remus’s pupils as they roamed over his chest. 

“What, because there’s an unreasonably attractive man getting naked in my lounge? Oh, that happens every Saturday.” It’s a joke, Sirius knows, but he feels a tumble of concurrent emotions: sheer joy that he called him attractive, mixed with a pang of jealousy at the thought that anyone but him should get naked in this house. 

Not that that’s on the cards. 

“You’ve never thought of getting any?” Sirius asks, wanting to fill the profound silence that sits between them. 

“What makes you think I don’t have any?” Remus quirks an eyebrow at him and Sirius can feel his face light up. 

“Oh my God, what do you have?” 

Remus grins, smug, infuriating. “That’s for me to know and you to find out.” 

Well, fuck.

Sirius wants to find out. He wants to find out very much indeed. But he also wants to play it cool, so he schools his expression into something less... reverent, and fights off the urge to wink outrageously. He tops up Remus’s glass for him and Remus starts to tell him about an encounter he had with one of the regulars yesterday. Sirius hangs on his every word. 

“Well, I’m not surprised. All the old ladies at the vets fancy you, you know. I’m sure that’s the only reason Dorothy got another cat.”

Remus sniggers. “Dorothy, I’ll admit, does appear to like my company a fair amount. I need to start making her pay for double appointments. She’s a chatter.” He excuses himself to go to the loo, which wakes up Edna who jumps haughtily off Sirius’s lap and follows him out. Sirius takes the opportunity to inspect his bookshelves, full of French poetry, gardening books, and arduous prose. He runs his finger along the spines of the books and sighs. 

He loves this. 

They talk for two more hours, conversation not waning for a second. And it’s only when Remus starts yawning that Sirius realises how late it is. He quickly sets up his Netflix account on Remus’s TV, then lets him know he’s going home. 

Remus’s face does something complicated. “Oh, okay,” he says, and heaves himself off the sofa to see Sirius to the door. 

“Thank you for having me.” He thrusts his hands into his pockets because Remus looks sleepy and soft, and he can’t trust them not to do something silly. 

“Sirius,” Remus says, voice low. He leans in slightly and Sirius’s mouth goes completely dry. Then Remus picks a bit of fluff off his shirt and shows it to him. “Fluff,” he says, nonsensically. 

“Oh!” Sirius laughs too loudly. Fluff is not particularly funny. 

“See you Monday?” Remus asks. 

“Yeah! Yep. Yes Siree,” Sirius babbles, like some sort of unstoppable moron. 

“Good.” Remus’s mouth twitches up at the side and Sirius wants to kiss him so bloody much. But he finds himself putting one foot in front of the other, and takes his leave, counting down the hours till Monday morning. It takes about five minutes for his heart to fall back into some semblance of a normal rhythm. 

\--

He’s late, in the end, because the washing machine packs in and there’s water all over the kitchen. He rings work to tell them that he has to take the morning off, and waits all morning for a plumber, who charges him exorbitant rates because it’s an emergency. No matter, it’s all sorted, and he rocks up to the surgery around eleven. 

He goes straight through to the back room, where Remus is standing, deep in conversation with Charlotte. He doesn’t see Sirius at first, but when he does, he looks... pleased. Definitely pleased. “Hi there,” he smiles. 

“Well, hello!” He walks towards Remus, taking out the leaflet from his pocket from the best local curry house that he’s saved to give him, after a conversation they had on Saturday where Remus explained that his favourite was closing down. 

“Don’t come too close!” Remus says, with some urgency. “I smell really bad. I’ve just finished expressing the anal glands of a particularly stinky chihuahua.” 

“That’s hot,” Sirius laughs, and changes direction towards Paddy’s cage instead. He plays with him for a bit, marvelling at how much he’s improving. He’s grown, too, and his paws are huge now. His coat is coming through, and it’s black and curly and lush. 

“Now, I don’t want to jinx things,” Remus says, maintaining his distance. “But I think we’re only a week or so from his discharge date.” 

It’s the news Sirius has been waiting for, and he’s on cloud nine. Except: “Thinking about it, I have no idea how to look after a dog,” he admits sheepishly. 

Remus laughs softly. “Well, you need to feed him, play with him, walk him. And for all the other stuff, I’ll help you.” 

Sirius’s stomach flips pleasantly at that: at the suggestion that once Paddy is no longer under Remus’s watchful eye, he’ll still be in the picture, that they might continue to see each other even when there is strictly no need to. And of course, Sirius hopes on some level that they will spend some of that time exploring each other’s bodies with their fingers, eyes and tongues. But even if not, he thinks he would still like Remus to mean something in his life outside the confines of veterinary practice. 

It would be all kinds of excellent to explore each other’s bodies with their fingers, eyes and tongues, though. 

Remus looks at his watch and makes to leave the room for an appointment. Sirius forgets how to speak for a moment, but one word erupts from his mouth. “Marlene!” 

Remus turns to face him, perplexed. 

“I mean,” Sirius corrects. “My friend Marlene is an artist and she has an exhibition which opens tomorrow at this gallery in town. Do you... like art?”

“Yes,” Remus says straight away. 

“So you’ll come?” Sirius asks, dying a little inside. 

“Yes,” he repeats, lip twitching. And when he leaves the room, Sirius finds that he can think of nothing other than his furrowed brow and the little creasy lines around his mouth when he frowns. 

“Oh God,” he whispers to Paddy. “I like him, mate. I really bloody like him.” 

\--

Lily and James’s house is between Remus’s and the gallery, so they agree that he will swing by beforehand and they will walk there together. 

What Sirius isn’t prepared for is that Remus will be ten minutes early, and that he will be wearing a plaid shirt. Sirius doesn’t really do early, so when he opens the door and sees that it’s him, he does so in his tartan dressing gown, hair wet from his shower. 

“Oh,” he laughs. “You’re early. Come in.” He fusses about Remus for a minute or two, ushering him to sit at the kitchen table. “I’ll be three minutes,” he promises, then rushes to sling on a black, long-sleeved t-shirt, black jeans and a pair of trainers that are probably just smart enough for the occasion. He musses his hair a little, then rushes back downstairs. 

“Wow, so you really do wake up looking like that,” Remus remarks, almost to himself, when he enters the room, but Sirius is too distracted to hear him, because something dreadful has happened. Remus is no longer sitting at the table alone, but opposite one James Potter. 

“So as I was saying,” James declares, gesticulating wildly. “He is quite intelligent, really, he just does his best to make people think otherwise.” He winks at Sirius, and this is, he is fairly sure, the worst thing that has ever happened in the history of man. Remus, an actual adult, grown-up man-human, is talking to James, who is maybe none of those things. 

“James,” Sirius says, with a calmness that he isn’t feeling. “Do shut up, won’t you?” 

“So you two went to school together?” Remus asks, smiling wryly at Sirius’s discomfort. 

“Yes; boarding school,” James explains. “Back then, of course, everyone called him Shagger Black. Because he was such a little strumpet.” 

Fuck. 

“And he had his growth spurt first, so all the girls thought he was the height of maturity. Little did they know that he was the one who masterminded all the pranks.” James is clearly delighted to have the opportunity to ruin any prospect of Remus considering them to be equals.

Remus looks between them, clearly wanting more details. “Pranks?” 

“Oh, yes. God, so many pranks we lost count. There was the time he managed to trick Mrs McGonagall into dying all of her knickers puce. And that one where you taught the whole class a new language, just so you could talk about naughty things without the teacher knowing.” He looks up, beaming. “Remember, Shagger?” 

“Fuck off,” Sirius grumbles, not making eye contact with either of them. 

“Well that shows a certain amount of flair, I’d say.” Remus runs a hand through his hair, and everything is agonising in about ten different ways. 

“Oh yes, absolutely. I always thought that if he channelled all his creative genius into something worthwhile, he could actually be remotely successful.” 

“Yes, thank you Mum. Remus, we should be getting goi--”

“Oh, hello!” Lily bustles through the door and puts grocery bags down on the table. She’s in work clothes, and her hair, which would have been pristine this morning, is now tumbling freely from the bun that’s secured on top of her head. “You must be Remus.” 

God, this is dreadful. Not only does Remus now know about the Shagger thing, he’s also going to know that he talks about him, to other people, like he’s a big deal. Which he is, but still. Best that he doesn’t know that. 

“I’m Lily.” She reaches out a hand to shake his. “Lovely to finally meet you.” 

Shut up, shut up, shut up. 

“Yes, well we really must be going.” 

“Well, look, I’m home much earlier than I thought I’d be. If you give me five minutes, I’ll put some normal clothes on and we can all go together!” She flashes Sirius a smile which he knows is Lily code for ‘I know exactly what I’m doing and I defy you to stop me’. 

“Fine!” Sirius throws his hands up in the air in surrender, knowing without a doubt that this will be the evening that scuppers everything. 

A few agonising minutes pass where James regales Remus with tales of some of Sirius’s less glorious moments, and by the time Lily comes back, he’s in a full grump. They file out of the house and Remus steps to one side to let Sirius past. “After you, Shagger,” he says in a sultry voice, eyes wild with laughter. 

\-- 

The exhibition is _fine_. Marlene’s art is fantastic, obviously, but Sirius increasingly feels like his promised evening of culture and calm with Remus has been replaced against his will by his friends’ unique blend of chaos and... whatever the opposite of culture is. Marlene has joined them now, and they are in a pub that is decidedly unsophisticated. It looks suspiciously like James is carrying a tray of sambuca shots towards the table and Sirius tries not to be too petulant about the whole thing, but it’s difficult. 

He keeps looking at Remus, trying to gauge whether he’s having an _okay_ time or wants to scratch his own eyes out. As ever, he’s infuriatingly impossible to read, and as Marlene launches into yet another ‘let’s make Sirius look ridiculous’ story, Sirius lets out a noise that is pure frustration and stalks out to the smoking area for a cigarette. 

“Sirius,” he hears from behind him as he counts to one hundred (something he learned from the compulsory therapy they made him do as a child when his dad was elected into office). 

He turns around and Remus is there, tall and handsome, and it’s just the two of them. 

“This,” he exhales slowly. “This isn’t the picture I want you to have of me.” 

Remus shakes his head and tuts. “What? That you were a child once? That you made some dubious choices at university? Alright, who didn’t?” 

“You don’t have to be nice to me. I was looking forward to a nice chilled evening and then this lot” he jerks his head towards the inside of the pub “show up and make it their mission to ensure the night is as loud and embarrassing and immature as possible.” 

Remus takes a tiny step towards him and places a hand over Sirius’s forearm, “Hey,” he says, voice kind and careful. “I’m having a great evening.” 

“You are?” 

“Yes. And I like your friends.” 

“You do?” 

“Yes. Now, can we go back inside please?” 

“Okay.” He holds out his lit cigarette so Remus can take a drag. Remus hums softly as he breathes the smoke out slowly and their fingers brush as he passes it back. 

God.

The gang seem to have got the message when they go back in because the embarrassment campaign lets up, just enough that Sirius finds himself relaxing into the evening. On reflection, he thinks that it’s possible Remus really is having a decent time. His body language is relaxed, and his pink cheeks are almost insultingly kissable. 

Remus leaves earlier than the others, but not so early that Sirius is concerned they have completely scared him off. He turns to face his friends. 

“So?” he asks, lifting his shoulders. 

“He’s brilliant!” Lily enthuses. “Very intelligent and sophisticated.” 

“And sexy,” Marlene adds. 

“Very,” Lily nods, a little too hard. James clears his throat and she gives him a concessionary pat on the head. 

“Okay, I’ll concede he’s a bit sexy. Wayyy out of your league,” James scoffs. 

“Thanks man. So glad you’re here for me in my time of need,” Sirius replies grumpily. “So do you think he likes me?” 

“Dunno.”

“Not sure.” 

“No fucking clue.”

He lets out a little whimper of desperation. “Pete?” 

“Hard to say, really, Sirius. He doesn’t give much away, does he?” 

“He gives precisely nothing away,” Sirius sighs. “But do you think he’s queer?” 

“Dunno.”

“Not sure.” 

“No fucking clue.”

Sirius takes in a huge breath. “Right, then. Good chat. Thanks pals.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're going back into lockdown and it's sad. I think I have caught Sirius's ennui. Cheer me up?
> 
> Also, trigger warning for panic attacks in this chapter.

“Do you really think he needs three different beds?” Lily asks, aghast, as she surveys the mountain of items Sirius brought back from the pet shop in preparation for Paddy’s imminent arrival. 

“We don’t know which one he’s going to like best, Lils. Best to hedge our bets,” he says solemnly. 

“Right, I see. And the seven food bowls?” 

“Don’t they need one for every day of the week?” he asks, arranging the dozens of toys he’s bought so they are piled just so in a dedicated toy box. 

Sirius paces nervously, opening and closing the kitchen cupboards and taking nothing out. 

“Sirius,” she says gently. “It’s time.” 

He swallows. “It’s time,” he repeats. 

\--

When Sirius gets to the vets, Remus is standing in the back room, holding Paddy by a brand new red leather lead that he suspects he may have bought with his own money. Paddy is so big now, looks so strong and happy that Sirius almost sheds a little tear. 

He takes the handle of the lead and looks Remus dead in the eye. “I don’t know how to thank you.” 

“No thanks necessary,” Remus says, smiling wonkily, then biting his lip as if he wants to say something. 

It hits him then that this is the last of their morning meetings; that they won’t see each other, now. Not every day, at least. The sense of loss that accompanies the realisation takes him by surprise. 

“We’ll still see each other,” Remus says quietly, as if reading his thoughts. “I’ll call you, okay?” 

Sirius nods. “Yeah,” he says. “Please do.” 

The nurses, who have become very fond of Paddy over the last few weeks, all come out to wish him goodbye. Charlotte sniffs a little as she stoops down to kiss him on the head, wiping at her eyes and elbowing Sirius good-naturedly when he has the gall to make a joke about it. 

He settles his eye-watering bill (not questioning for a moment whether it was all worth it as he gazes down into trusting brown eyes) and bids his new friends goodbye. Even Hannah, who seems to have softened to him over the last week or so, sends a little wave their way. 

They walk home. And it becomes evident very quickly that Paddy has spent the bulk of his short life in a cage; he is not a natural when it comes to walking on the lead. At one point he sits down mid-way through crossing the road, seemingly just because he’s a little tired. Sirius has to pick him up, which is no mean feat because he’s wriggly and growing so big and gangly. And later on, he gets so distracted by the endless appeal of biting his lead that he completely abandons putting one foot in front of the other and ends up walking around in circles. But he does everything with his trademark enthusiasm, tail whipping against Sirius’s leg for the duration of his quest to sniff every smell and nibble at every plant he can find. 

It’s great. The twenty minute walk takes them two hours. And he discovers, much to his chagrin, that having a puppy is even more of a babe magnet than being covered in tattoos. Every woman he passes stops to coo and fuss. 

He will have to loan him out to Peter, he thinks, given that there is no room in his own heart at present for the cooing lady folk, and he hopes that sentiment isn’t woefully misplaced, hopes dearly that he isn’t out there on his own.

\--

In the end, Sirius needn’t have worried about Remus being put off by his friends. Because after Paddy is discharged, they start hanging out on the regular. It makes up for the fact that their morning meetings in the surgery have now fallen away, and Sirius would be pleased about it if he weren’t so busy losing his proverbial shit every time Remus is sat less than a metre away. 

Remus, he’s sure, has no idea of the effect he has on Sirius. It’s actually becoming quite problematic and he spends the whole time they are together buzzing like a livewire, wanting to rip off that t-shirt with the stripes, or that tight fucking pink shirt, or that ridiculous jumper with the hole. Remus does something innocuous like saying the word fuck, pronouncing the ‘k’ in a somehow very sensual way, and Sirius gets a boner. Or he raises his eyebrows when he says something stupid, and Sirius gets a boner. Or he lets their hands brush together as he hands him a bottle of beer, and Sirius gets a boner. 

He is basically just a walking boner. 

“I’m not saying I will _definitely_ get a motorbike. But it’s an intriguing premise, isn’t it? Spending all your cash on a steel-framed death machine?” 

Remus takes a sip of beer and huffs. “Don’t get a motorbike. If you get thrown off and meet your grizzly end, I’ll have to find another charismatic young man to hang around and ask me lots of questions, some of them distinctly silly.” 

He says it fondly, though. Sirius’s mouth splits into a smile. “Okay. I won’t get a motorbike.” 

Remus glances at him through narrowed eyes. “Good.” He takes a long sip of beer. “Do you want to go for a walk tomorrow?” 

Sirius pulls a face. “In the outdoors?” 

Remus snorts. “Yes.” 

“Like a hike?” 

“Yes.” 

Sirius ponders the prospect carefully. “I don’t tend to hike.” 

Remus’s eyes crease up in the corners. “When’s the last time you did some exercise?” 

Sirius thinks for a tellingly long time. 

“Sirius, you need to do some exercise. And eat a lemon, or something, or you’ll get scurvy.” 

“Like a sexy pirate,” Sirius winks, and Remus rolls his eyes. 

“Lots of ancient diseases are making a comeback,” Remus says haughtily. “Scurvy, rickets...” he pauses. “Syphilis.” 

“Talk dirty to me, Lupin.” Sirius waggles his eyebrows. 

“I’m serious. Poor nutrition and mass poverty are genuinely sending us backwards. Did you know that life expectancy has stopped going up?” 

Sirius nods along. “Tragic,” he says, only half listening. “Can dogs get scurvy?”

Remus raises an amused eyebrow. “No. They can’t.” 

Sirius nods to himself and a minute of pensive silence passes. “What does one even wear for a hike?” 

The two of them have arrived at the intended venue earlier than the rest. This is, in part, because Sirius lied to Remus about the time everyone was getting there in a bid to get him alone for a bit of calm before the incoming storm. It’s also because the gang are not any of them renowned for their punctuality. So there’s a lovely half hour where it’s just the two of them and Sirius can think all of his pervasive sexy (and sometimes outright romantic) thoughts in peace. 

When Remus slides past him to go to the loo, he puts a hand on Sirius’s knee and squeezes gently. It’s the latest in a very recent escalation of casual touches and glances that feel pretty overt and always make Sirius feel vaguely winded and unsatisfied. 

He never touches him back, afraid that he might fail to read the situation. But he is a very willing recipient, and it’s a good job Remus is in the toilet because his cheeks are burning something chronic as he recovers from the sweet thrill of the knee squeezing incident. 

“Black, you are looking positively ravishing tonight.” James jumps into the seat beside him; Remus’s seat, and Sirius wrestles him right back out of it. 

“That one’s occupied,” he snaps, lips relaxing into a smile as the others drift in. “Hello kinfolk.” 

“Hello blushing Bella,” Marlene winks. 

“Hush now, he’ll be back any second.” 

“Consider me hushed,” she laughs musically. 

Remus wends his way back from the toilet and he greets the newcomers amicably, resuming his seat. Under cover of the table, he reaches out for Sirius’s wrist and traces a thumb over the delicate skin over his pulse point. Nobody else can see what’s happening and it feels like a divine, sacred sort of moment made all the better because of its quiet sort of secrecy. This time, Sirius is brave enough to lace his fingers with Remus’s. Remus is not only receptive to the contact but he starts tracing patterns over his palm. His breath hitches and he is anywhere but in the room with his friends as he zones in on the sensation. 

And, predictably, he gets yet another boner. 

After that, things descend into relative chaos. 

Remus ends up talking to Lily about _culture_ stuff for most of the evening. They seem to like each other more with every meeting. Sirius is pleased, obviously, but is also conscious that Marlene has spent a good twenty minutes talking to him about the wonder of Takeshi’s Castle. Perhaps he should give up on selling himself to Remus as a cultured sort of being, and accept that he is younger, sillier, and altogether less fascinating, opting instead to just enjoy the ride (and he resolutely clings onto the hope that there’s a ride in there somewhere). 

James is talking to Peter in depth about Football Manager tactics and Sirius is half listening, hoping that Remus is consumed enough in his conversation with Lily that he isn’t also half listening to the somewhat less cerebral chit chat that dominates the rest of the table. 

Peter has bought a second hand electric scooter from Ebay. And when they troop outside to inspect it, that’s probably the pivotal point at which the night incurs irreparable damage. Because after everyone has had a few drinks, there is an inevitability about each of them having a go on the scooter, which technically isn’t roadworthy, and with which Peter has tampered so that it’s no longer limited to going 15 miles per hour. 

They end up orchestrating a competition, of sorts. It’s a drag race, really, down the length of the street, but one of them attempts it at a time while Peter times them on his stop watch. And it’s a good job that Marlene’s flat is on the same road as the pub because she takes a mighty tumble. She is, after all, very adherent to any set of rules, particularly the rule that nobody is allowed to place a foot on the ground, which results in a particularly dramatic scene as she is thrown from the scooter and onto the tarmac, skinning both her knees. 

Remus takes charge after that. They all bundle into Marlene’s flat and he raids her medicine cabinet for supplies. She ends up sitting on a chair in the dining room, stoic and measured as Remus swabs some antiseptic over the gashes and meticulously selects some dressing that will be well suited to the conundrum. He talks her calmly through the process and lets out a breath of laughter at one of her crude jokes, smiling warmly up at her. 

Sirius leans against the doorpost and watches the scene, mouth tilting up softly. And James sidles up to him and nudges him in the side. “Penny for your thoughts?” 

“He’s brilliant, isn’t he?” Sirius says in a whispered hush. 

“Yes,” James nods after a loaded pause. “And you know what’s even better? This is the first time he’s taken his eyes off you all night.” He shoots Sirius with a fond glance. “I haven’t seen you like this since Petra.” 

“No,” Sirius nods.

“Could you see yourself being in a relationship with him?” James asks, staying close. 

Sirius inhales. “I could see myself being in _the_ relationship with him.” 

“Fuck,” James says. 

“Yeah.” Sirius nods in a clipped gesture. “Fuck.” 

\--

Lily and James go home early, and when the others peel off, Sirius and Remus find themselves wandering around the city for a while. It’s a crisp, dry night, and the stars are out in full force as they stroll along the riverside footpath. Cyclists and late joggers flit past them and Remus’s hand brushes against his as they walk. 

Eventually they pull to a stop, both hushed into a comfortable silence as they happen upon the marina and gaze out at the bobbing boats in the lovely hush of the night. 

Remus leans back on the railings and shoots him with what might be bedroom eyes; the sort of eyes that find their way straight to his boxers. 

He might be slowly losing his mind. 

They stand close together and Sirius can feel Remus’s presence, heavy beside him. Remus turns and looks him right in the eye. He hauls in a deep, shuddering breath. “Sirius, I--” 

“ _Sirius_?” 

And God, the voice is so familiar, so intimately known to him, that he shudders in place without even needing to look. 

“Oh God,” he whispers to Remus, then whips around to see her; the love of his life, hand in hand with some sort of Scandinavian giant man, who he can only assume is Karl. Petra is, if possible, even more stunning than she was when they were together. She’s cut her hair short, and it flicks out from under a red beret.

Sirius always thought she looked a bit like one of those Botticelli women: all alabaster skin, and curves and abundant beauty. She’s wearing earrings that he bought her five years ago at the flea market and she looks at him, soft and warm, in that way she always did.

“Hi,” he says, once he’s remembered English. “God, I-- hi!” he laughs helplessly. 

Petra flinches and begins to stutter, just a little. “S-Sirius, this is Karl.” 

He finds himself feeling unusually calm about the whole situation, as one often is when confronted with the tangled ghosts of one’s past. “Hello Karl.” He shakes his giant hand and plasters a winning smile on his face. “It’s a pleasure. And this is my friend Remus.” 

Remus is an intelligent man. And evidently he cottons on quickly, stepping forward and shaking hands over hasty introductions. And amidst his jumble of thoughts, he has a vague awareness that Remus has moved his hand so it sits snugly in the small of his back. He leans back into the touch. 

“So, what are you doing here?” he asks. “I thought you’d be on a dig.” 

“We’re just back for a week. My dad’s had an operation so we’re helping mum with the aftercare stuff.”

“Oh shit, is he okay?” Sirius always liked Petra’s dad: a professor at the university with a paunch and half rimmed glasses. 

“He will be,” she smiles. He nods, placated. “You look really well, Sirius,” she says after a moment. “What’s new?” 

“Oh, not much,” he shrugs. “Still here. Same job. New dog. I found a Hula Hoop in my packet the other day which was just one long, flat crisp.”

She laughs, which he thinks is a fairly generous reaction, given that he is talking out of his arse. 

“How about you?” he asks. “Everything good?” 

“Great,” she smiles. “In fact,” she gazes at Karl with an expression that makes Sirius feel distinctly queasy. “We just got married.” 

“Ha! Fantastic news! Fabulous! Well done, you, you clever things!” He is sort of shouting, he knows. “Gosh, would you just look at that rock! Only fitting from an archeologist, I suppose. The children will be models, I bet. Well, Remus and I need to go and see a man about a llama so we must bid you adieu. It’s jolly nice to see you, Petra, Karl. Love to your dad!” 

Remus links his arm with his and steers him down a little street. “Come on, we’re not far from mine,” he says quickly. They complete the short walk in a silence that is much more tense than their usual companionable chatter, but Remus’s arm is a constant, steady presence. 

Remus ushers him inside and takes himself off to the kitchen to put the kettle on. Sirius stands uselessly for a moment, then drags himself to the loo. He closes the lid of the toilet seat and sits heavily down with a clatter. 

His breath comes in shallow bursts that don’t fill his lungs, and his head swims. There is a pain in his chest that’s as unrelenting as the pounding of his pulse in his ears, and he’s sure he’s going to throw up. He flops his head down clumsily onto his knees and starts to make choked noises deep in his throat. He barely registers the soft knock on the door because he’s almost certainly having a heart attack or something. There is more knocking, he thinks, but his vision is going black, and if he could only _breathe_ , things might be okay, but his lungs are pained and empty and useless, like a pair of bellows with a bloody great hole in. 

And then there is the sensation of hands wrapping themselves around his calves, a thumb smoothing over the stiff cotton of his jeans. And a deep voice making noises like a tide over sand and shells; “Shhhhh, it’s okay,” it says. “It’s okay. 

The voice helps. The voice starts to bring him back. “Sirius,” it says at the point where his lungs start to feel less hollow. “You’re having a panic attack. Can you hear me?”

He can. But for some reason, he shakes his head into his lap and one of the hands that was on his calf finds its way to his hair, stroking tenderly. 

“That’s it, just breathe.” And it’s Remus, he knows now. Remus’s voice, Remus’s fingers, Remus whispering soothing nothings to him while he sits on his loo. 

Oh. Right, then. 

Sirius’s heart is still racing. But he is back in the room now, almost, and is sentient enough to allow embarrassment to start creeping in. He raises his head slowly to let the light in and clutches a hand to Remus’s shoulder, focusing on his breathing and the constellation of freckles dusted over Remus’s nose as he talks him down. 

Remus’s hand is still in his hair, clutched loosely to the curve of his head. He makes eye contact and searches Sirius’s face. “Okay?” he asks. 

Sirius nods mutely. 

Remus nods back, gives Sirius’s calf a little squeeze, and leaves the room. Sirius strongly suspects that he’s giving him some space to compose himself, a gesture for which he is endlessly grateful. 

“That’s, erm. That’s never happened to me,” he says, wind gone from his sails. He sits at Remus’s breakfast bar and stares into the cup of tea he’s made him, watching the surface ripple at his breath. 

Remus nods thoughtfully. “It’s happened to me,” he says. “It’s very scary when it’s the first one.” 

Sirius laughs dryly. “You can say that again. God. Sorry. I’m sorry.” 

Remus shakes his head and stares down into his drink. “Do you want to talk about Petra?” 

Sirius lets out a deep sigh. “You mean do I want to talk about the fact that the love of my life has married the hunky Action Man she left me for?” 

“So far,” Remus says quietly. 

“Hmm?” 

“The love of your life so far.” He takes a sip of his tea. “Besides, I didn’t think he was that hunky. Nowhere near enough tattoos.” His eyes twinkle with mirth and Sirius lets out a brave little laugh. 

“Want me to walk you home?” Remus asks once they’ve finished their drinks. Sirius shakes his head, but he’s quiet and pensive and Remus stands up, scraping his stool along the tiles. “Come on. I’m walking you home.”

Sirius lets him. And he doesn’t want the night to end this way; wants wildly to extend the walk so that it can end differently. He could pretend to get lost and they could circle the block a few times, he thinks, buying himself at least a few minutes more. But Remus has proved himself remarkably astute on any number of occasions, and Sirius is sure that he would be rumbled in no time, were he to try any funny business. 

And so, they’re at the front door before he can decide on a plan of action. Sirius can see Lily’s red hair bobbing around through the frosted glass of the door. It grounds him in the moment, reminds him that other people exist and no matter how much he cocks this up, life will go on. It’s an oddly helpful flicker of mindfulness in the moment. 

Remus clears his throat. Sirius gazes resolutely at his shoulder in a bid to set his eyes on anything but the pointed bow of Remus’s lips. 

Sirius scrambles to form actual words. “Right, then. Err. I--” He hauls in a huge, juddering breath. “Oh God, I’m so embarrassed.” 

Remus tuts almost imperceptibly, bends his knees, just a touch, and lines their faces up so that it’s much harder for Sirius to avoid his gaze. Sirius’s breath hitches at the sight of Remus so close, so sincere and kind. Remus raises a shaky hand and ghosts a rough thumb back and forth over the skin stretched tight across Sirius’s cheekbone, so slowly, so gently. He is shaking his head, lips stretched thin in fondness and concern. “You’re okay, Sirius,” he soothes in that deep, clear voice. “You’re okay. You don’t need to be anything more than you are.” 

He licks his lips and Sirius’s intestines plummet. And then he leans forward, brushing their noses together so they are breathing the same air, so Sirius can feel the warmth of him through the gap between them. He waits there, lips millimetres from Sirius’s, thumb still brushing his cheek, presumably waiting for any sign that he’s misread the situation, that Sirius doesn’t want this.

But he wants it so much it physically aches. 

He tilts his chin up, pressing their lips together, leaving no room between them, not for air nor any remaining ambiguity. 

Remus’s mouth is soft and warm, his lips parted enough that Sirius can slide their tongues together, can taste heat that seems to emanate from the very core of him. And Sirius knows he has been kissed before; kissed soundly; kissed with the sort of kisses that tug at your insides and mess with your head. But right now, it feels like this is the only kiss he has ever had and he is stumbling around, learning to do it all over again. Remus pulls away, mouth parted, eyes twinkly and warm. 

“Oh,” Sirius whispers through breathy pants. “So you _are_ gay then.” 

Remus laughs in fond disbelief, as if Sirius were foolish for ever thinking otherwise, and Sirius can feel his cheeks filling with colour. He lets his eyes run all over Sirius’s face and they are brighter than Sirius had thought possible. When Sirius reaches out to place a hand on his chest, that brightness darkens into something much more urgent and Remus’s eyes flash with want. He grabs hold of the fabric of Sirius’s shirt underneath his jacket and backs him into the post of the doorframe, crowding up against him. 

Sirius, all deference and awe, moans into a dirty, slightly messy kiss. Remus’s hands are everywhere: on his waist, his hip, his arse, as if they want to explore every bit of him. And then, there are hands at his collar, tugging him forward into a searing kiss.

When Remus does pull away, panting, his eyes roam boldly over Sirius’s torso, his chest, his lips. His hair is sticking up on one side where Sirius has tugged on it and his shirt is rumpled up around his neck. He laughs, shy now, perhaps due to the vehemence of his response, and presses three careful, open-mouthed kisses to the cut of Sirus’s jaw. It’s sweet and tender, and Sirius isn’t sure whether he prefers this or the hunger, wouldn’t want to choose. 

Sirius smooths his hair down for him and runs his hands over his shoulders to straighten the shirt. Remus’s eyes are creasing up at the corners, like he’s going to laugh again, but instead, he raises his hand to muss the ends of Sirius’s hair, feeling the strands between his fingertips. Sirius loves it when people play with his hair. Honestly, it might be better than sex.

Sirius is grinning, and he must look fucking ridiculous, but it doesn’t occur to him to care much. “Hey,” he says, nonsensically. 

“Hi there.” Remus is grinning too, and it’s lovely, unabashed. He presses their lips together, and it’s soft once more. He fumbles with Sirius’s collar and the buttons of his shirt, undoing the top ones so he can nose at the sharp angles of his collarbone, can suck gently at the thin skin of his neck. 

“God,” Sirius breathes, then “ _yes_ ,” as Remus rolls his hips forwards, grinding against him like they are rutting teenage boys. 

Sirius is fairly sure that he has never been this turned on. Not with Luscious Lucius, nor Petra, not even the time that Mila Tanev sat on his face at James’s eighteenth birthday party and he came in his pants, untouched. He feels, wildly, like he needs to do something about it, but he knows Lily and James are on the other side of the door, and there’s something quite old fashioned about it all, really. It’s all very Victorian and... well, not chaste, as such, but sort of sweet nonetheless. 

Remus is kissing him frantically now, nipping at his lower lip, sucking at it and making noises in the back of his throat that are so utterly disarming, they could tranquilise a horse. Probably. Remus would know but it doesn’t seem polite to ask in the moment. 

“Fuck,” Remus pants, breaking away and burying his nose in the curve of Sirius’s neck, breathing hotly on his skin. “Fuck, Sirius.” He’s into this too, Sirius knows with perfect clarity, now. He’s into it too and it’s fucking glorious. He doesn’t know the limits, doesn’t know how far he can take this, but he knows how far he _wants_ to. He can feel Remus, hard through the fabric of his trousers, pressed to the bone of Sirius’s hip. 

It’s at once far too much and nowhere near enough. 

“God, I fancy you,” he says, flopping his head forwards to nuzzle in the fabric of Remus’s shirt where it bunches at his neck. “I just... I don’t know, I feel like my whole life’s purpose now is to get you off.” 

It sounds ridiculous. It _is_ ridiculous. Remus leans forward to bury a kiss in Sirius’s hair and he huffs a laugh into the silky strands, softened by posh shampoo and at least three different products he can’t pronounce the name of. 

Sirius tilts his chin up to press a string of staccato kisses to Remus’s lips. “Suppose it wouldn’t be the done thing,” he whispers huskily, between kisses, “to give you a hand job on my best friend’s porch.” 

Remus cackles. It’s a genuine evil laugh, and his eyes shine with mischief. It is, Sirius thinks to himself, incredibly appealing, _incredibly_ attractive, and it doesn’t do much to help his outrageous erection abate. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Remus tells him huffily, but he’s so bloody lovely that Sirius doesn’t mind one bit. He breathes in, a little shaky, rubbing his thumb over the point of Sirius’s hip bone, his lips just centimetres from Sirius’s. “I missed seeing you every day.” 

“And me,” Sirius agrees. “Missed watching you work, missed your voice, your mouth,” he runs his teeth over a prominent tendon in Remus’s neck and sucks hard, eliciting a hiss that makes Sirius, if possible, even harder. “Missed those shirts, your smell, your hands.” To emphasise his point, he reaches for Remus’s hand and brings it to the cleft of his arse, delighted when he squeezes gently. “Have thought about your hands all over me,” he breathes into the nape of Remus’s neck, “God, every night for weeks.” 

“Mmm,” Remus sighs. “Mmm, me too.”

Sirius bucks his hips forward so that they are pressed against each other, both still hard, still hungry.

“Sirius,” Remus pants. “We need to stop. I need you to stop. I am a grown man and I cannot jizz all over my boxers like I’m seventeen.” 

Sirius plays the part of the petulant child to perfection. He even pouts a little, but he’s not proud of it. “Oh _fine_. But I would like it noted that making you jizz all over your boxers sounds to me like the perfect way to end an evening,” he grumbles. He peels himself away (let no man claim that he has no willpower!) and holds two hands to Remus’s shoulders, keeping him resolutely at arm’s length, brushing his thumb over the supple skin of his neck. “Paddy’s inside,” he says, feeling less like he might drown. “Want to come and say hello?” 

Remus smiles ruefully. “I would.” He places his hands over Sirius’s and squeezes. “But it’s important to me that Lily continues to see me as a respectable human being, and I wouldn’t be able to look her in the eye while I was thinking about bending you over on her kitchen island and doing filthy things to you.” 

“Good Lord, Remus!” Sirius’s voice breaks all over the words, and he isn’t sure how he is even staying upright. He watches all the expressions mixed together on Remus’s face, watches his eyes, full of naughty thoughts. “God,” he says, quieter. 

“Come over tomorrow night?” Remus asks, playing with the hem of Sirius’s shirt between finger and thumb. “Do you like fish? I’ve got this great monkfish recipe I’ve been dying to try again.” 

“Yeah,” Sirius grins. “Yeah, that sounds very lovely.” They kiss, but it’s calmer now (less tongue, less conspicuous rubbing together of genitalia). “So it’s definitely a no to that handjob then?”

Remus’s smile could probably light up the whole street. “Goodnight, Sirius. See you tomorrow.” 

“Yeah,” Sirius breathes, watching him go. “See you tomorrow.” 

“Where did you get to?” Lily asks, when he tries to sneak in. She’s dressed in printed pyjamas, hair shoved into a bun, and she’s smiling knowingly. 

“It’s a long story,” he grins. “And I would stay here and indulge you, but I have an urgent appointment with my newly replenished wank bank.” He winks at her and chuckles at her expression of disbelief. “Night, Lils.” 

“Goodnight, darling. I’m leaving at five tomorrow morning, so you’ll have to text me all the deets.” 

“Deal,” Sirius laughs, turning into his room. He keeps the light off as he kicks off all his clothes and clambers under the duvet, grinning from ear to ear, painfully hard in his pants and completely ridiculous with it all.

His phone flashes with a text: 

_I can’t believe you gave me a hickey. I’m nearly forty._

And then another:

_Christ, Sirius._


	7. Chapter 7

Sirius finishes the last drop from his glass of wine and seductively licks every trace of it from his lips. At least, he thinks what he’s doing is seductive. It’s always worked for him before, but he’s been at Remus’s for forty-five whole minutes now and they haven’t laid a finger on each other. It wasn’t how he had seen this rendezvous going, but much to his astonishment, Remus really is cooking monkfish and it’s all Sirius can do to stop himself from taking whatever utensil Remus is holding in those big, beautiful hands of his and slipping those hands inside his pants instead. 

Remus looks up from his work frequently, to meet his eye and smile. And Sirius thinks he deserves a medal because he looks good enough to eat, wearing arse-hugging jeans and a tight fucking t-shirt that shows off all his angles and arms that are wiry and strong. 

He wonders whether he could pick Sirius up. Pick him up and fuck him up against the wall. Pick him up and throw him on the bed. Pick him up just to kiss him, slow and hot, Sirius’s legs wrapped around his waist. That sort of thing. 

And then he wonders whether he somehow fabricated last night’s spellbinding events; whether he’s somehow concocted a ridiculously erotic dream and willed it to be real so badly that it’s imprinted itself on his memory. But then he spies the purplish bruise on Remus’s neck that he put there, and he can almost taste the salt of his skin on his tongue all over again. 

He shivers. 

“How is Paddy doing?” Remus asks, grinding some spices in a pestle and mortar. 

Sirius grins. “He has made himself very much at home. And I’ve taught him how to high five. And he destroyed a squeaky toy in a record twenty six seconds yesterday.” 

“Ah. Well it’s good to know he’s settling in--”

“Are you going to kiss me?” Sirius interrupts without thinking. He’s sat on a tall stool and his legs dangle uselessly. He wishes they were stuck firmly on the floor. 

Remus raises an eyebrow at him and covers the space between them in two big steps. He puts his hands, palm down, on the breakfast bar either side of Sirius, so that he’s encased, and he leans forward and... doesn’t kiss him. What he does do is take his bottom lip between his teeth and bites it, hard, then licks, agonisingly slowly, along the skin made red by his teeth. He pulls away and looks at Sirius with searing intensity. 

“If I kiss you,” he says in a low, sultry voice, “I won’t want to stop. And I know you’re hungry because that vocal tummy of yours keeps rumbling like it might digest itself.” 

Sirius brings two fingers up to his lip, to the wetness of Remus’s tongue, still trailed all over him. He shivers bodily just as Remus slides a hand along his leg, from his knee to a place that’s so close to his crotch, he could probably just shuffle a little bit and it would be there. But that’s when Remus pulls away, smiling infuriatingly. 

“Some things are better if you wait for them,” Remus says. He reaches for the bottle of wine and fills their glasses, not breaking eye contact for a moment. 

God.

He’s probably right, but Sirius would be all too happy to just nibble on a breadstick later, in his post-coital haze. Because there is no way the man stood before him, who can get him aroused just by being in the same room, is going to be anything less than brilliant in bed. There’s just no way. And all of this is an agonising exercise in patience geared at someone who has next to none. But all he can do is watch helplessly as Remus squeezes the juice from an orange with one hand. The juice trickles down his wrist and Sirius wants to lick it off. 

Sirius is _thirsty_. 

Luckily, that’s when Edna comes in. Remus hands him a laser pointer and he’s distracted enough playing with her that he doesn’t realise the food is ready until Remus slides a bowl in front of him and hands him a fork. “Here,” he says, squeezing his shoulder. “Eat.” 

He sits beside him and their elbows knock together as they eat. Remus finishes first and traces lazy patterns on Sirius’s back as he scrapes the last of the meal from his plate. Remus watches from the corner of his eye as Sirius places his knife and fork down. He gets up, takes the plates to the sink and lets them fall with a clatter. Then he’s back. He holds out a hand to Sirius to bring him to a standing position, and in one deft movement, pulls him in with a firm hand pressed to his lower back, and kisses him. 

It’s nothing like yesterday’s frantic display. It’s slow and dirty, like they have all the time in the world. Remus strokes deliberate lines down his sides and Sirius has the singular sensation of being dismantled with every careful touch. His hands slide up Remus’s torso, flat palms to his chest. Remus pulls away and Sirius leans forward with him, chases the sensation of their lips pressed together. 

Remus smiles, sheepish and shy, and he presses a quick peck to his lips. “Do you want dessert?” 

Sirius sniggers. “Don’t you fucking dare torture me with dessert, Remus Lupin. _You’re_ my dessert.” 

Remus rolls his eyes. “What a line,” he groans, but then his mouth is latched to the skin of Sirius’s neck, teeth scraping faintly over soft skin that sets his nerves alight. “Shall we retire to the sitting room, good sir?” 

Sirius quirks an eyebrow at him. 

“Lounge,” Remus nods. And he walks off on those long legs of his without looking back. Sirius stands for a moment, suspended in what will always be the moment before he will see Remus naked, and he knows in his bones that it’s momentous, colossal, and if there were a fly on the wall now, she would laugh callously at the sight of him, completely addled with lust, trousers tented obscenely. 

Can flies laugh? He’ll have to ask Remus when he gets a moment. 

In the lounge, Remus has sat himself down tentatively on the sofa, perched on the edge in a way that doesn’t look wholly comfortable. Sirius gulps down his nerves and moves over to meet him, kisses him hard and makes a spur-of-the-moment sort of decision to take his t-shirt off before lowering himself to straddle him, sitting down into his lap and nipping at his jawline. 

He helps Remus divest himself of his own shirt, and is rewarded with the sublime sensation of the fine tremble of Remus’s skin beneath his own, and when he licks into his mouth, he tastes of oranges and saffron and wine. 

“God, look at you,” Remus pants after Sirius has kissed him thoroughly. “Don’t fucking stop,” he growls. But he doesn’t kiss him, opting instead to lick kisses down his neck and to his chest; to the dragon; to the nipple it embraces.

Sirius has wildly sensitive nipples; always has. And he’s always felt sorry for other men who don’t, because as foreplay goes, nipple play is right at the top of the list for him. So when Remus focuses his attention on this particular part of his anatomy, licking and sucking and biting, Sirius thinks he might come there and then. 

“God, this tattoo,” Remus breathes. He licks a flat stripe right along the dragon, fingers clutched to Sirius’s biceps, anchoring him down. The bulge in Sirius’s trousers is something neither of them can ignore now, and Remus starts to stroke softly along the outline of his dick. 

Sirius is loud, and enthusiastic, and that seems to give Remus permission to come out of himself enough to gasp and moan and whisper sweet nothings in his ear. It’s fan-fucking-tastic and Sirius thinks that maybe nothing matters outside the realms of the sublime push and pull of their entanglement. 

He stops for a second, and indulgently takes Remus’s face in his hands, so he can look him over, so he can kiss him, soft and sensuous. “Shall we go upstairs?” he asks, pressing a kiss to Remus’s temple in a way he hopes isn’t too obviously sappy. 

Remus nods and they untangle, making their way to the bedroom, stopping occasionally to exchange harried kisses. 

“Trousers off, please,” Sirius grins, pausing only momentarily to come to terms with the fact that he’s in _Dr Lupin’s_ bedroom, that _Dr Lupin_ is standing in front of him, half clothed, half fucked, half Godly. Remus laughs through his nose and unbuckles his belt, letting his trousers slide to the floor. 

It’s then that Sirius spots it; the small tattoo, etched on his hip, of a wolf howling to the moon. He watches Sirius’s eyes as they latch onto it, hungry and awed. 

“Fuck me,” Sirius whispers. And it’s meant to be an exclamation, but it comes out like an instruction. Looking at Remus standing in nothing but his boxers, he thinks perhaps he meant it as an instruction after all. He slips out of his jeans and walks to him, standing before him, running his hands up and down his bare sides, and licking into his mouth. 

He slips his thumbs into the elastic waistband of Remus’s boxers, and he slowly drags them down, watching through heavy eyes as his cock springs free. 

God. 

It’s a little intimidatingly large, actually, but Sirius is nothing if not a trier, so he whips his own pants off and steers Remus towards the bed, lowering him down and kissing all the way from the lobe of his ear, right down to the wolf, which he licks impatiently, then scrapes his teeth over the marked skin, which has Remus gasping, and holding his head like it’s something precious. When Sirius wraps his mouth softly around Remus’s dick, he makes a low, guttural noise in the back of his throat, and minutes later, when he’s coming, it’s Sirius’s name on his lips as he does. Sirius, unable to hold off any longer, strokes himself off in a couple of pumps and he comes blindingly hard onto Remus’s nice checked duvet cover. 

“Come here,” Remus laughs, watching as Sirius, mortified, tries to clean up some of the mess with his pants. He holds out an arm in Sirius’s vague direction, beckoning him closer. 

Sirius grins and shuffles up the bed, flopping down onto the pillow next to Remus’s. Remus pulls him into his side and kisses him roughly. He pulls a face and sniggers. “You taste like jizz.” 

“I taste like _your_ jizz,” Sirius snorts. “Which is an excellent turn up for the books if you ask me. I thought we’d never get there.” 

Remus, seemingly unperturbed, kisses him again. Sirius strokes his hair and makes happy little noises into his mouth. “How the fuck are you single?” he asks when he pulls away. 

Remus chuckles. 

“I’m serious. You’re fucking lovely.” 

“I’m fucking _you_ ,” Remus corrects with the quirk of an eyebrow. 

“Not yet, you’re not. But the night is young.” 

Remus grins. “I’m an old man. I can’t go twice in one night.” 

“I don’t believe that for a moment. Besides, you’re still young. Everyone in the know says that forty is the new thirty.” 

“Those people are young and desperately want to believe that it all gets better,” Remus smiles. 

“Does it?” Sirius asks, crooking his head to look Remus in the eye. 

“God, yes,” Remus laughs. “I wouldn’t go back to being your age for love nor money. All that insecurity. All that angst. All those inconvenient erections.” He traces patterns on the top of Sirius’s hand. 

“Old people aren’t that different to young people, really,” Sirius opines. “They just have less thrust and vim.” 

“It’s true,” Remus nods. “And they still like good looking, tattooed young men with delicious bottoms.” To emphasise his point, he slides a hand down the length of Sirius’s body and squeezes his bum. 

Sirius’s cheeks have started to hurt from all the smiling. “Is that so?” 

Remus hums, and his voice is low and sated, and he presses a kiss to Sirius’s forehead that feels tender and real. “Where do you stand now on the dessert conundrum?” 

They sit in the lounge and eat profiteroles in their pants in front of the fire, and Sirius can’t stop staring. Because Remus isn’t necessarily conventionally attractive. He’s so pale he’s practically translucent, and he’s awkwardly tall and full of limbs. But Sirius watches him lick a splat of cream from his thumb and thinks he’s beautiful beyond measure. 

“Can I stay the night?” Sirius asks, running his eyes all over the other man’s body. “It’s raining outside, you see.” 

Remus scoffs, scraping the last of his dessert up with his spoon. “Wouldn’t want you to get wet.”

“Mmm, it’d be a travesty,” he grins. 

“Does Paddy have a babysitter tonight then?” 

“Would it sound presumptuous if I said yes?” Sirius has, in fact, dropped him off with Peter and told him in no uncertain terms that he shouldn’t expect him back this evening. 

“Yes.”

“What can I say? I’m one of life’s eternal optimists.” 

They end up sitting on Remus’s sofa, under a knitted blanket, exchanging languid kisses and talking in low voices for what could be minutes or hours. Sirius’s feet rest in Remus’s lap while Remus’s hands move over them, and he’s calm and content. 

“So come on then, spill.” Sirius goads. “When did you first want to take me into your bed, you dirty wolf?” His eyes are fixed on the tattoo and Remus’s semi which makes itself known just south of it. 

Remus smiles widely. “I don’t want to inflate your already swollen ego.” 

“Swollen?” Sirius smirks. “Moi?”

Remus huffs a laugh out through his nose. “It was pretty instantaneous,” he says, shutting his eyes at the sensation of Sirius’s fingers trailing over the delicate skin of his forearm. 

Sirius beams. “I thought you thought I was a bit of a prick.” 

“Oh, I did,” Remus smiles, cheeky and playful. “First I just thought you were... you know, aesthetically lovely. But you were difficult to ignore after a while.” He slides a hand slowly up Sirius’s thigh and tucks it comfortably under the hem of his boxers. “What about you?” 

“Early, I think.” He gazes at him from his spot on the sofa. “I only realised when you were off sick. But before that, I thought you were the most interesting person I’d ever met. I was always unnaturally disappointed when it was time for you to start your appointments. And when you took me out to that wine bar, it was honestly the highlight of my week. So I think there were some clues.” 

Remus smiles and he looks lovely and relaxed. “I got a lot of shit for it.” 

Sirius tilts his head questioningly. 

“Dorothy spotted the love bite today. And long before that, Charlotte apparently caught me gazing at you longingly one day, which I categorically deny. You know, because I have a reputation to uphold.” 

Sirius smiles sheepishly. “But you did long for me?” 

Remus shrugs. “Quite emphatically so.” He runs a thumb over the arch of Sirius’s foot. Sirius is hard again but it doesn’t feel like the right time and place to bring it up. As it were. 

“I want to get to know you better,” Sirius says after a moment’s comfortable silence. “What are your likes?” 

Remus quirks and eyebrow at him. “My likes?”

“Yes. And, you know, your dislikes.” Sirius cocks his head like a puppy. 

He half expects Remus to roll his eyes in that way he does when he’s trying to highlight just how absurd Sirius is being. But he’s full of surprises. “How many am I allowed?” 

“Three of each.” 

Remus smiles softly. “Right then. Likes: fresh basil, cold winter days, and really good wine. Dislikes: my mum asking me every time I call whether I’ve ‘met my Barry yet’, slugs with a penchant for parsley, and really bad wine. Now you go.”

“Ooh, right. Should have seen this coming. Okay, then. Likes: Beer, Paddy, and anything I can be vaguely competitive at: darts, pool, tiddlywinks, you know. Dislikes: puny hand driers, people assuming I’m stupid, and Tories.”

Remus is smiling widely. “I never assumed for one moment that you were stupid.” 

“Well, good. Because I got 102% at GCSE maths. Not just a pretty face.” He pokes Remus gently with his foot. 

Remus ponders this for a second. “Wait, hang on. Who said you had a pretty face?”

“You did, with your come hither eyes,” Sirius grins. 

Remus scoffs. “You know the thing about come hither eyes? The ultimate end goal is that the recipient comes hither.” He pats his lap, and Sirius scrabbles to meet him on his end of the sofa, landing on top of him enthusiastically. 

“This is where you see some of that thrust and vim in action,” Sirius winks. He kisses him firmly, carefully. Remus slides his hands up from the band of his pants, over his taut abdomen, and up to his chest, taking one of his nipples between finger and thumb and squeezing gently. Sirius makes an embarrassing noise in the back of his throat that makes Remus smile against his lips. 

Remus pulls back and lets his eyes roam over Sirius’s face. He strokes a hand through his hair and says in a low voice “I haven’t made you come yet.” 

“Technically, no,” Sirius agrees. “But I did have a jolly nice time up there.” 

“I’m going to make you come,” Remus says in a growl. “On your back, Black.” 

Sirius laughs giddily while Remus extracts himself to stand up. He spreads out on his back and reels at the sight of Remus towering above him. He looks hungry and brooding as he pulls Sirius’s pants down, lowers himself down so he covers his whole body, and licks downwards until he reaches his cock, hard and leaking, and takes him into his mouth in one. 

“Gah!” Sirius exclaims. Remus does some intricate, incredible things with his tongue and Sirius is in heaven. Blowjob heaven. Which is definitely the best realm of heaven, bar none. 

Sirius is close. But he doesn’t want to come yet. He puts a gentle hand either side of Remus’s head and coaxes him off. “Remus,” he says huskily. “Do you want to fuck me?” 

Remus’s pupils are blown and his lips wet with spit. He’s unthinkably lovely as he swallows down the surprise and his lip twitches upwards. “The lube is upstairs. We are downstairs.” 

“It’s quite the quandary.” 

“I can go and get it,” Remus says quietly. “But it means I can’t carry on doing this.” He slicks a hand up the length of Sirius’s dick. 

“Aha, you tricksy bastard,” Sirius sniggers. “It’s like Sophie’s choice.” He steels himself. “Come on. Let’s both go to where the lube is. It feels important that we both go to where the lube is.” 

They do go upstairs and Remus does locate the lube, and Sirius discovers exactly what those beautiful long fingers were made for as Remus works him open, meticulously preparing him. And then, he’s fucking him, slowly, as if he’s something rare and exquisite, stroking his hair and checking that he’s okay, checking that he can take it. Sirius can only nod, biting his lip and clutching onto Remus’s biceps, making noises that at first are gasps of blissed-out surprise, but quickly become full-on moans as Remus angles himself just so. 

They come seconds apart, clinging onto each other, sweaty and alive. Remus rolls off him, ties up the condom and throws it into the bin. He falls back onto his pillow and closes his eyes, hand fumbling for Sirius’s on the duvet. 

“Are you alright?” Remus asks, eyes roaming over his face.

“I’m fucking brilliant,” Sirius grins. “A bit sore. But brilliant.” 

Remus turns on his side and looks him over. Sirius can see the pulse in his neck and smell the sex that lingers in the air. “Can I get you anything? Water? Wash cloth?” 

Sirius sighs contentedly. “Wash cloth would be lovely please.” 

Remus disappears for a few minutes, then re-emerges, still butt-naked, with a damp cloth and a slab of dark chocolate, cold from the fridge. “The total care package,” he announces, and watches with heavy eyes as Sirius cleans himself up. 

Sirius struggles to sleep. But that’s nothing new. He watches the rise and fall of Remus’s chest and swallows down the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach; a feeling that says this is too good to last. Because nothing this good has ever lasted before. He fidgets and lets out little sighs, impossibly wired and awake. 

“Will you stop wriggling?” Remus whispers after a while. “Here, come here.” He holds out his arms and wraps him up, kissing his neck and falling straight back asleep. Sirius closes his eyes and thinks about Remus’s hands clutched to his skin, and eventually drifts off. 

\--

The light streaming through the blinds wakes him early. It takes him a moment to realise where he is, whose arms are wrapped around him. He takes a moment to indulgently study Remus’s face: the soft curve of his lips, those fantastically long lashes, the way his hair falls into his eyes as he sleeps. And in a moment of indulgence, he kisses the angle of Remus’s cheek, then turns over to try and get some more sleep. 

He settles into his pillow, eyes closed, and when he opens them, there is a huge fucking great _frog_ blinking back at him. 

“What the fuck!” he yells, scrabbling to free himself from the confines of the duvet cover. 

Remus’s eyes fly open and he mumbles a sleepy “ws’happening?” as Sirius vaults over him to stand on the floor beside him. Remus glances at Sirius’s pillow and laughs. “Oh, shit.” 

“Oh shit!? There is a reptile in your bed and all you can say is oh shit!?” Sirius is now slightly hysterical, voice much higher than he would like, as he springs from one foot to the other, panic rising in his throat. 

Remus rolls his eyes and calmly gets out of bed, walks around to the slimy creature and picks him up, encasing him in two hands. He is completely naked, and there would be something quite comical about the sight if Sirius weren’t still coming down from his panicked frenzy. He grabs a dressing gown from the back of the door and trots downstairs after Remus, poking his head round the kitchen door and watching as Remus releases the beast outside. 

He comes back in, washes his hands with an amused smile, and glances up at Sirius. “The perils of having a cat,” he says calmly. “We end up with some exotic visitors.” 

“What, Edna brought the frog in?” Sirius asks, aghast. He eyes Remus: his thick thighs, pink nipples, his dick, large and heavy set, even when soft. 

“Actually, it was a toad,” Remus explains, and Sirius heaves a little bit at the thought that it was so close to his face. “And not that this is the important thing, but toads aren’t reptiles, they’re amphibians. 

Sirius stares at him incredulously. 

“I’m going to put some clothes on,” Remus laughs. “Coffee is in the canister on the left.” 

When he re-emerges, Sirius has worked out how to use the stove-top coffee maker and the room is starting to fill with the smells of strong coffee. Remus is now wearing a pale grey t-shirt and thin pyjama bottoms, and he looks soft and morning-muted, and Sirius struggles to keep his hands off him. But he sets about making breakfast, and Sirius is a big proponent of breakfast. He sits and watches him, legs dangling, sipping at the coffee which is particularly delicate and delicious. 

Edna strolls in through the catflap and starts to purr and nudge at Remus’s legs. She keeps it up until he relents and feeds her, and Sirius lets her know that she gave him the fright of his life this morning. “How did you even fit the toad in your mouth, you wiley minx?” he asks, smiling despite himself. 

Remus fixes him with a soft expression, puts his spatula down and walks over to kiss him, rough hands in his hair. “How are you feeling today?” he asks. “Still sore?” 

Sirius shakes his head and leans in for another kiss. He can taste the coffee on Remus’s lips and he is helpless but to lick the taste into his own mouth. “I’m fine,” he says, pulling away, pretending not to notice the bulge in Remus’s pyjamas, resisting the urge to reach out and touch, because as much as he would love to get hot and heavy in the kitchen, he also really wants some of those eggs that are cooking, along with the thick white bread that sits on the counter. 

\--

Sirius is excited. There is an odd flicker of optimism that rises up in his gut as he and Paddy walk the familiar route to the veterinary practice, rucksack on his back, sitting heavy atop his shoulders. 

The plan is that he will meet Remus from work, and then they will go away for two whole nights, just the two of them (and the dog) to a quaint little pub in the Cotswolds. Remus will finally get Sirius to hike and will repay him with lots of sexy sex. The plan, in Sirius’s opinion, is without fault. He and Remus have seen each other most days since Sirius first stayed the night a month ago, and he doesn’t want to jinx it but he thinks things are going really well. And the more he sees Remus, the more unique and _brilliant_ , he realises he is. 

The sex is next level. Sirius has never known anything like it; has never had such an extraordinarily intense interval of pleasure; has never known anyone able to read his body like a story book, able to coax orgasms out of him like they’re going out of fashion. 

But it’s more than that. Remus is fun. He’s erudite and calm and witty, and everything Sirius is not. And he seems to like Sirius anyway. 

The bell jangles overhead, just as it always did. And he and Paddy take a seat and wait for the end of Remus’s shift. Mandy, the receptionist, greets him with a wry ‘well hello, there,’ and when she pops out the back to speak to someone, Sirius is sure he hears the word ‘boyfriend’ bandied about. 

Remus comes out at six minutes past the hour. He bids Mandy farewell, grabs his coat, and they’re gone. 

“I bought you something,” Sirius declares once they’ve set off in Remus’s car. He rifles in his bag and pulls out a tissue-wrapped package. “I’ll unwrap it for you.” He lets the tissue fall to his lap and unfurls a pale grey cashmere scarf which he holds near Remus’s hand so he can feel how soft it is. “I saw this at the French Market. I thought you’d like it because you’re always so cold.” 

“It’s June,” Remus laughs easily. 

“And I bet you’re a little bit chilly.” 

“I am, actually.” He takes the scarf and wraps it around his neck, keeping one hand on the steering wheel and one eye on the road. “I love it, thank you.” 

Paddy is good as gold for the entirety of the journey. And it’s already getting dark by the time they pull up to the pub, which is just as lovely as Sirius had imagined. They check in and go straight upstairs so Remus can change out of his work clothes, Sirius watching him out of the corner of his eye as he does. Then they head down to the bar and drink glasses of strong, dark ale while they scour the menus intently. 

“I’m going to have the pie,” Remus announces. “I’ve worked hard today and I think I deserve the bacon-based calories.” 

“I should say so,” Sirius hums. He reaches out and traces a finger over the veins in Remus’s hands. “I’m ravenous.” 

Paddy lies across both of their feet, and the landlady fusses over them, and it would be perfect if not for the couple at the next table who are particularly obnoxious, and judging by the way the woman is glaring at their clasped hands, almost certainly homophobic. 

Fuck them. 

Sirius kisses Remus on the mouth and his cheeks fill with beautiful colour as he studiously considers his food choices. “We don’t need an audience,” he whispers to Sirius. 

“I don’t give a fuck who’s watching,” Sirius mumbles, thinking of what they’re going to do when he gets him back to the privacy of their room. His heart zips pleasantly in his chest and he licks Remus’s neck, just once, for good measure. 

“Tell me something no-one else knows,” Remus whispers that night, once they are full, sated and naked in bed. 

This is the point at which Sirius would normally make a joke or say something stupid. Instead, he turns to look him in the eye and links their fingers together. 

“I can’t ride a bike,” he says. 

“What?” Remus grins. “You’re messing with me.” 

“Nope. Deadly serious. I lived in central London and I had a charming set of parents who never saw us, let alone took the time to teach us how to ride a bike. Olga the Nanny couldn’t either, so we never learned.” 

Remus looks at him intensely. “That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard,” he says, and gathers Sirius to his chest. “I’ll teach you, if you like.” 

\--

“Emilia Caruso,” Sirius puffs. They are climbing up an unnecessarily large hill, and his lack of fitness is betraying him horribly. “We were sixteen. She had done it before and I hadn’t, so she talked me through it step by step. It was clinical but... nice. Not a horribly disturbing way to be de-flowered.” He smiles at Remus who is annoyingly composed despite the effort of the climb. “How about you?”

A worried look crosses Remus’s face. “I thought it was obvious. _You_ took my virginity.” 

Sirius’s stomach plummets, and he turns to face him, wide-eyed. “Oh, I--” 

A huge grin spreads over Remus’s face and he looks down at his shoes guiltily. “God, you should see your face.” 

“I hate you.” 

“No you don’t,” he says in a quiet chuckle. And he’s right. 

“Just for that, you’re driving home.” 

“I was always going to drive home. I drove us here. It’s my car. You’re not insured--” 

“Technicalities,” Sirius grins. “Right, cleverdick. Who was it really?” 

“My best friend,” Remus smiles sadly. “His name was Marc. We were inseparable growing up, and at some point along the way, we fell in love.”

“That sounds nice.” 

“It was,” Remus nods. “We were sixteen, too, when it first happened. And we were together a little while but it all went south when we went off to university. He met someone. I met someone. As eighteen-year-olds do.” 

“Do you still talk?” 

“No. The breakup wasn’t as clean as I’d have liked and the friendship was collateral damage, really. But I’m still glad we went for it. It was a lovely, innocent sort of love, and I don’t regret a bit of it.” 

Sirius nods, to himself, more than anything. 

When at last they reach the top of the hill, Sirius spots a bench and parks himself down, patting the space beside him which Remus fills, thigh pressed to his own. There is a plaque which Sirius reads aloud: “ _‘Dedicated to the memory of Dierdre McVie. Your grandchildren will always carry your batons.’_ What an odd thing to put on a plaque.”

“They will carry your batons. And your several genetic defects,” Remus laughs in agreement. 

“So we’ve been going out for a few weeks,” Sirius says once he’s caught his breath and tired of the (admittedly fairly lovely) view. “But I still don’t feel like I know what does it for you.” 

Remus’s mouth twitches. “Say again?” 

“I would like to know what your fantasies are,” Sirius says quickly, embarrassment leaking in. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” 

Remus smiles softly and links an arm around Sirius’s waist. “You’ve already shown me yours.” 

“I have?” 

“Yes. You like being dominated,” he says simply. “Bossed around. You like taking it more than you like giving, and I am very happy to oblige. Also, I’d bet fair money that you like being tied up, blindfolded, that sort of thing.” He squeezes gently. “Am I wrong?” 

“Err. No. No, that’s fairly on the nose, actually.” Sirius can feel his cheeks burning. “I also have a big thing for teachers, professors, that sort of thing. If you’re ever in the mood to dress up a little, that is. So what about you, then?” 

Remus’s eyes blaze and if they weren’t in a public place, Sirius suspects that this would be a matter of _showing_ rather than telling. Remus kisses his neck, which is almost certainly too sweaty from the unforgiving ascent. “I like watching,” he says, voice deep. 

“Watching what?” 

“You. I like watching you touch yourself, like watching you take me in your mouth, like watching you finger yourself so perfectly to get ready for me.” 

If Sirius thought he was blushing before, now he’s practically scarlet. 

“And I like those little noises you make when I’m fucking you,” Remus adds, nibbling on his ear. “It’s all that I can do not to come straight away when you start making those gorgeous fucking noises.” 

Sirius kisses him, hot and needy. He wants to tell Remus that he’s developing feelings that are alien and scary, that he’s on such uneven ground that he lives in abject terror because he knows their brilliant coming together will end all too soon. But instead, he just whispers “you’re so fucking sexy,” and they take a moment to hold onto each other, to let things die down before they heave themselves off the bench and start off back down the hill. 

Remus drives back in silence, and Sirius sleeps the whole way, vaguely aware of long fingers clutched delicately around the back of his neck, and Paddy, whimpering occasionally in protest at being confined to the back seat. 

He wakes up just in time to see familiar streets in Clifton, a couple of minutes away from Remus’s house. He glances over at Sirius and smiles, full and easy. “Hello sleepyhead,” he teases, and once they’ve pulled into the drive: “Will you stay the night?”

“Yeah,” Sirius mumbles sleepily. “Yeah, I’ll stay the night.” 

\--

Sirius’s sleep is disturbed and fitful once more. He has a dream where Remus realises who he really is (whatever that means) and leaves him for a librarian. And then another one where Paddy decamps to Remus’s because he realises he likes him better than Sirius, and neither of them will see him anymore. There is a distinct theme to his dreams, of late, and he feels like his subconscious is screaming at him to get out. But he doesn’t want to. 

He really doesn’t want to. 

“One of us has dribbled on my pillow,” Remus observes when he wakes up. 

“I think that was probably me,” Sirius shrugs apologetically. 

“Yes, I think it probably was, too,” Remus laughs and kisses him on the forehead, leaving his lips there for several seconds before he pulls back and runs his eyes over Sirius’s face, brow furrowed. “You didn’t sleep,” he says, and it isn’t a question. 

“No,” Sirius concedes. 

“Is there anything I can do?” 

“No.” Sirius says honestly. “I don’t think there is.” 

\--

“This is ridiculous,” Remus grumbles later as Sirius lathers shampoo into his hair. And Sirius thinks that’s pretty rich, because it’s Remus who had the foresight to install a huge walk-in shower, big enough for two tall men to canoodle in: a move that screams ‘I want my perpetually horny... not boyfriend to get in with me and lather me up’. 

“Hush, you tasty ragamuffin. Close your eyes or I’ll get shampoo in them.” 

Remus huffs a laugh out of his nose and obediently squeezes his eyes shut. Sirius runs his fingers through his hair, dragging them over his scalp, and the smile is wiped off Remus’s face, replaced by contentment and a touch of desire. “Mmm,” he says in the back of his throat. “That’s nice. You have good hands.” 

Sirius grins and scrapes his teeth over the curve of Remus’s neck. Remus’s eyes are still closed and he whimpers, learning into Sirius, into the sensation of Sirius’s fingers pressed into his hip bones. Sirius presses him back into the tiled wall, kissing him hotly. 

“You know what I’d like? I’d like to kiss every bit of you,” Sirius pants into his neck, relishing the feel of his wiry body against his own, hard dicks brushing together. “I won’t rest until I’ve kissed every bit of your lovely skin.” True to his word, he trails kisses down his cheek, his neck, his Adam’s apple. Kisses the bow of his lips and the skin just above it. Kisses his eyelids, his hair, the lobe of his ear. 

“You know,” Remus breathes. “I think there’s another bit of me you should be kissing right now.” 

“Oh!” Sirius grins. “Yes, sir!” He waggles his eyebrows, raises Remus’s arm above his head and laps wet kisses to his armpit while Remus giggles in a way that’s wonderfully out of character. “This is what you meant, right?” 

“Yes, Sirius. This is exactly what I meant.” He is completely unguarded as he laughs, full and warm. He turns Sirius around so that it’s him pressed to the cold tiles, and he kneels to take him into his mouth, his clever tongue doing things that would make a sailor blush, and Sirius’s heart is full. 

“You’re not real,” he whispers. And then, even quieter: “I don’t deserve you.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for references to suicide. Proceed with caution!

Summer has reached its pinnacle. There is a heady, dreamy feel to the long days, and Sirius thinks Remus might be about to break up with him. 

Over the past few weeks, Sirius has become more and more aware of their differences, and the stark contrast in their approaches to relationships, to this relationship in particular. 

Sirius is all breathless enthusiasm and emphatic praise: he tells Remus all the time how much he likes his body; how unbelievably sexy he is; how lucky he feels that they met and several months later started bumping uglies. Granted, he doesn’t tell him some of the other stuff. The stuff about how he thinks about him constantly, feels hollow when he’s gone, likes him so much it’s fucking terrifying. But with the physical stuff, he’s golden. 

Remus doesn’t do much of the breathless enthusiasm. And Sirius had assumed that that was just... his way. But now he’s beginning to wonder. Remus hasn’t introduced him to any of his friends yet, and when Sirius asks about them, he feels like he gets the brush off. He suspects he might be a bit ashamed of him. Which isn’t exactly a surprise. There’s a fair amount to be ashamed of. 

And this morning when Sirius asked if Remus wanted to meet up, he hesitated. There was definite, tangible hesitation, and Sirius can think of nothing else as they stroll through Bristol.

They’ve been walking for half an hour when they get to the bridge; Isambard Kingdom Brunel’s piece de la resistance which soars over the Avon gorge. Sirius isn’t afraid of heights, but as they step onto the bridge, even he is hit by a touch of vertigo. 

They walk slowly: Remus’s joints have been playing up the last few days and it’s slowed him down, such that they have only had sex with Sirius on top, and even then, only every other day. 

Sirius doesn’t mind the slower pace. It gives him chance to brood. Which is probably not the healthy, adult approach, but it’s the one he’s going to end up taking. It’s inevitable. 

They come to a sign, stark in its simplicity, and stand before it in silence. It reads:

_Samaritans care.  
Talk to us anytime  
Night or day  
0845 790 9090_

They don’t move. 

“Have you ever thought about it?” Remus asks after a moment.

“Yes,” Sirius says in a hushed voice. “But I’m not sure I ever meant it.” 

Remus reaches out for his hand, and they look at the sign a little while longer before moving down the bridge and admiring the view, Remus’s hand still wrapped around his own. 

“I think with me it’s just... an overabundance of empathy. Like I can’t help but feel that life is maybe just desperately, utterly sad. And I take things too much to heart. I saw an old man with a walking stick taking out his wheelie bin the other day and it’s all I could think about. Should I have helped him? Is there nobody there for him to take his wheelie bin out? What’s his name? His backstory? How did he end up so hunched? Did he ever know true love in his long, tragic life?”

“Exhausting in your brain, hmm?” 

“It is,” he admits. 

“You know, I’m not religious at all now. But I do remember most of it; it sort of sticks with you whether you like it or not. And John’s gospel is all drama and brilliance, and he says, right at the beginning, ‘The light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it.’” He searches Sirius’s face. “Life can be completely overwhelming. There’s debt and loneliness and ill health, and these things can feel set and insurmountable. But often, the overwhelming bit is just a moment in time. And for your old man taking his wheelie bin out, that might be the only exercise he gets in his old age. He probably looks forward to his weekly sojourn down the drive.”

Sirius squeezes his hand a little bit tighter and Remus winces in obvious discomfort. “Shit, sorry, you’re in pain.” 

“Yes. But don’t worry.” He breathes out slowly through his mouth. “Anyway, I think what I’m trying to say is that the world is a shit show. But the light can’t be extinguished. And I’m not going to spin a line and say something like we’re never handed more than we can cope with, because if that were true, there would be no need for that Samaritans sign, would there?” 

“But the light shines in the darkness.” 

“If you open your eyes to it.” 

Sirius gazes out at his adopted home city, then up at the man beside him. He kisses his shoulder, then musters the courage to look down at the rocky depths below. 

\--

When they get home, Remus abandons his plans of making dinner and takes himself to bed. Sirius follows shortly afterwards with a glass of water, and tucks him in. 

“Do you need me to call a doctor?” Sirius asks, pressing the back of his hand to Remus’s burning forehead. 

“No,” he says abruptly. “I just want to sleep. Like I should have been doing all day.” He’s scolding himself for overstretching, Sirius knows, but it feels a bit sharp nonetheless. 

Sirius nods, alarmed at seeing him so pale, so tired and feverish. “Do you want me to stay or go?” he asks. 

“Can you go?” Remus asks, and that stings, too. “I’m not going to be much fun tonight. You go home and have a nice evening and get a good night’s sleep and hopefully I’ll be feeling better in the morning.” 

But Sirius wants to stay. He wants to stay and feed Remus brownies and give him someone to cuddle up to for warmth. He wants to make him porridge in the morning, and cups of camomile tea. He wants so badly to be needed and he feels a little wounded because he’s not. He looks down at the floor and nods, not speaking. 

“Sirius,” Remus says gently. “If you don’t tell me what’s wrong, I won’t be able to help fix it.” 

“Nothing’s wrong,” Sirius says, voice emotionless and flat. “It’s fine, I’ll go.”

\--

James takes one look at him when he walks through the door and whisks him out to play crazy golf. “Come on,” he says. “Time for a chat.” 

Sirius picks his putter and steps onto the fake grass. There are children squealing and teens milling, and he is going to push through the chaos to kick James’s arse. 

“So what’s wrong?” James asks as he fails to chip his ball through the cyclops’s eye. “Is it Remus?” 

“It’s a combination of factors,” Sirius says diplomatically. “Remus is in a flare. And he asked me to leave him alone.” 

“Right,” James nods. “But if he’s feeling shitty, probably the last thing he wants is you fussing all over him with your good but misguided intentions.” 

“Yeah. But I don’t really understand that because if I were ill, I would absolutely want him fussing all over me.” 

“Well that’s because you have a flair for the dramatic.” 

“He hasn’t introduced me to his friends.” Sirius can feel himself pouting and he’s glad he has an excuse to face the direction of the hole. 

“Well that’s normal, I’d say. It’s only been a couple of months, hasn’t it?” James looks at him kindly. “But if it’s bothering you, you should talk to him about it. Let him know that you’d like to meet them.” 

Sirius sighs. “Maybe. But I don’t want to upset him. I feel like he’ll take it all as a criticism, and I don’t want him to start rethinking all of this.” 

James sighs wearily. “You’re doing it again.”

“What?” 

“Mate, I love you. But you’re a serial self-saboteur. You’re finally in a relationship that’s not a bag of crap with someone who likes you, challenges you, calls you on your shit.” 

“Shags like a nymphomaniac on death row,” Sirius chips in. 

“Details I categorically did not need,” James grins. “My point is that you’re already checking out. I can feel it. And I think you’re doing it because you have feelings you don’t know how to reconcile and you already know it’s going to hurt like hell when it ends. So you’re thinking about doing it on your own terms in a bid to stop it hurting so much.”

“I’m not checking out,” Sirius argues. 

“If you’re not communicating with him, then you are checking out. I’m sorry, but it’s true.” James shoves him on the shoulder. “You look God awful. When did you last sleep through the night?” 

“Puberty,” Sirius quips. 

“Sirius, you’re shattered. You need to be easier on yourself or that brilliant little brain of yours will implode.”

Sirius nods. His phone vibrates in his pocket and it’s a text from Remus which says ‘I’m sorry I was grumpy. Can you come back?’

“Talk to him,” James says as they part, and Sirius rehearses the conversation in his head for the length of the walk there. 

_Remus, I like you a lot. Like, a lot. But I want you to let me support you and be part of your life. I’d like to meet your friends, and your mum, if you like. I’d like to be there when you’re not very well and I’d like to be there when you’re a regular spring chicken. I can really see a future here. Do you? Or am I out here all alone?_

Remus opens the door and lets Sirius wrap him in a hug. He even nuzzles his neck, just a little, like he’s getting real comfort from the embrace. 

“Hey,” he says gently. 

“Hi,” Sirius strokes his hair. “Can I come in?” 

Remus stands to one side and follows Sirius into the kitchen, bracing himself against the wall as he watches him making a pot of tea. 

“What are you doing standing there?” he asks Remus when he looks up. “Go and sit down, I’ll be there in a sec.” He grabs chocolate from the fridge and makes his way to the lounge, where Remus is sitting with his eyes closed, head pressed into the back of the sofa. 

“Thank you for coming,” Remus says in a croak. 

“Shh,” Sirius soothes. “Of course I came. You asked me to.” 

“I did,” Remus smiles, eyes still closed. “I’m sorry I was a stropbag.” 

“You’re poorly,” Sirius says. “You have the right to be a stropbag.” He takes Remus’s hand in his and strokes his thumb slowly over the skin of his fingers, his palm, his wrist. “Shall I put the telly on?” 

They end up watching Notting Hill. Or, at least, Sirius watches Notting Hill while Remus drifts in and out of sleep and Sirius brings him various bits of confectionery from the fridge and mops his sweaty brow. “I was seventeen when this film came out,” Remus mumbles. “I went to see it with my mother and then we went to the pub and shared a Magners and a portion of chips.” 

Sirius huffs a laugh through his nose. “You old fart.” 

Remus elbows him and buries his head in Sirius’s chest, falling promptly back to sleep. Sirius can feel his breath on his chest and it’s almost unbearably sweet. 

When the film ends, he kisses Remus on the temple to rouse him, then leads him up to bed. He doesn’t have any of his things with him, so he strips down to his underwear and borrows one of Remus’s t-shirts, crisp and fresh from the drawer. 

Remus has been tucked up for two minutes when he sits bolt upright and makes to extract himself from the covers. 

“Where are you going?” Sirius asks. 

“I forgot my pills,” Remus says drowsily. “They’re downstairs.” 

“Remus!” he chides. “I am here and able bodied. Please, for the love of Dolly Parton, surrender your pride enough to ask me to go and get your pills.” 

“No, I shan’t.” 

“I am going. So just tell me where they are, please.” 

Remus harrumphs, but before he’s even said anything, burrows back underneath the duvet. “By the toaster.” 

“And what beverage would you like to take them with?” 

“Erm. There is an elderflower cordial...” 

Sirius grins.

“And would you be able to feed Edna? Her food is on top of--” 

“The fridge,” he nods. “Don’t worry - I’m on it.” 

He makes his way downstairs, feeds Edna, grabs the medication, and fixes Remus’s drink. When he gets upstairs, Remus is propped against the headboard, staring straight ahead with heavy eyes, seemingly trying to stop himself falling asleep. 

Sirius puts the drink and the pills on Remus’s bedside table, then kisses him on his clammy forehead and walks around the bed to get in. 

“I’m sorry,” Remus says. 

“Stop,” Sirius instructs. 

Remus takes his meds and is asleep in moments. 

Sirius is awake at two. And then he’s awake at three, then four, then five. At seven, he finally drifts off, only to wake an hour later when Edna starts kneading his testicles, which Remus assures him is because she’s hungry and not because she wants a piece of his nimble body. 

“Did you sleep?” he asks. 

“No,” Sirius says honestly. 

“Anything you want to talk about?” 

And this is his moment. This is where they talk about the friend thing, and meeting the mother, and Sirius forging a path into Remus’s everyday. Maybe even the feelings stuff. Maybe. 

But Sirius just shakes his head, turns to face Remus, and lays a palm on his chest. Remus looks concerned, breathes out slowly, then drifts back to sleep. 

\--

It carries on like that for another month. It’s a month of Remus feeling grotty, of Sirius feeling like he’s on a precipice and definitely not talking about it, instead choosing to focus intently on making Remus come as much as he possibly can, before he runs out of chances. 

Marlene has invited him out with her art friends. And honestly, that invitation has lost some of its allure now that he’s not trying to get sexy with about eighty percent of those hip hotties, but Marlene has called him out for being so insular of late, and he feels like he should show up for twenty minutes or so, just to be polite. 

He fires off a text to Remus to invite him, just as he’s setting off. But then he’s suddenly in a club, and Marlene is nowhere to be found, and he finds himself in a group of people who are attractive and lithe and scantily clad. He recognises one or two of them and they are a vibrant clan, and they accept him into their throng without question. 

He checks his phone again but there’s nothing. He thinks of Remus, probably at home in his dressing gown, or out with the friends he’s too embarrassed to introduce him to, and he bristles. Because it dawns on him that he can’t spend the rest of his precious twenties tagging along with someone who doesn’t want him back, or who is only willing to ingratiate him into half of his lovely, grown up life; a life which was fully formed before he came along and in which Sirius feels he has no discernible place. 

He downs his pint and orders two more. Because there are ways of dealing with this sort of problem that are sensible, but he’s never been much good at sensible. 

There is a girl, Maria, who has legs up to her armpits and beautiful skin, who hands him a tequila shot. She’s a model, apparently, from Brazil. And that makes sense because she is sinfully attractive and wearing so few clothes that Sirius already knows exactly what she would look like naked. She shakes some salt onto the crest of her hand and raises it to his lips. He laughs, rolling his eyes, and licks the silky smooth skin. She grins; a wicked, seductive thing, and a thrill jolts down his spine. He downs the shot and she does likewise, then she pops a wedge of lime cleanly between her plump lips, winking at him. Without thinking, he leans forward, latches their lips together and sucks. 

She pulls away, gazing at him through hooded, gorgeous eyes, lined with black. He flashes her a grin and turns towards the bar to get two more.

Except, something awful has happened. Because when he looks at the bar, there is someone he sees first; Remus. Remus, who didn’t want to be here, Remus who is here anyway, Remus who absolutely just caught him in a compromising position and is now staring at him, two fingers pressed to his lips, expression one of infuriating neutrality. 

Remus who is in a club. 

“Hi,” he says. He runs a hand through his hair and stands, suspended for a moment, staring at him, as the music thrums through Sirius’s shoes. And then he huffs out a huge breath, turns around, and walks out of the door. 

Sirius curses and runs out after him, leaving Maria with the eyes sat by herself.

“Remus,” he pants, needing to take three steps for each stride of his. Remus doesn’t turn around, but keeps walking. He’s wearing a new shirt, and he’s shaved, and Sirius’s heart breaks, just a little bit. 

“Can you stop?” he asks, clutching onto his arm, turning him gently to face him. They stand in the street, looking at each other. 

“What?” Remus asks. His voice is raspy and tired, and it makes Sirius’s stomach lurch. “What do you want?” 

Sirius doesn’t really have an answer to that. He steps forward and reaches out a useless hand that falls limply to his side. “I want to talk,” he says lamely. “I want to explain.” 

Remus runs his eyes over Sirius; his face and chest and feet. “Right. Yes, okay. Explain.” 

His expression is still utterly impassive, and Sirius wants to scream. But he does his best to compose himself and draws in a huge breath. “We weren’t kissing,” he says. “She had lime in her mouth. And we were doing tequila shots. It was a whole thing.” 

Remus laughs, unfeeling. “Of course it was a whole thing.” 

“I didn’t mean--” 

“Sirius,” Remus says, and it feels calm and kind and completely undeserved. “It’s okay.” 

Sirius, utterly bereft, shakes his head. “Please don’t be nice to me.” 

“We never said this was an exclusive thing,” Remus nods to himself. He locks eyes with him and looks almost desperately sad. “It’s okay,” he says in a whisper. 

Sirius opens his mouth to say something, then shuts it again like a goldfish. 

“God, I’m such an idiot,” Remus says eventually, staring at his shoes. He looks up and Sirius’s breath hitches, lungs raw. “I thought maybe--” He shakes his head and doesn’t finish the sentence. 

“I know you’re angry--” Sirius begins. 

“I’m not.” Remus closes his eyes for a moment. 

“I sort of wish you were angry,” Sirius adds. He takes a step closer and Remus takes a step back. 

Remus quirks an eyebrow at him, but it’s not loaded with his usual playful sardonicism. It’s cold and detached and it feels like a dagger to Sirius’s already nauseous gut. “You want me to be angry,” he nods. “Yes, alright, then. I’ll be angry. I’m fucking angry, actually. I’m angry that I was absolutely fine before you came along, all teary and tattooed and lovely in my waiting room. I’m angry that you worked your way into my life and made yourself the best fucking part of it. I’m angry that I dragged myself out tonight when I felt awful, just because I wanted to see you.”

His cheeks are pink and he sighs, loud and guttural. “Mostly I’m angry that you’ve done this shitty thing but seeing you standing there, I still have to fight all my baser instincts to reach out and comfort you; try and make you feel better.” He scratches his head, tireder than Sirius has seen him. “How’s that, Sirius? Good enough? Do you like the anger better?” 

“No. I just... I didn’t think you wanted me in your life,” Sirius says, hanging his head, utterly ashamed, utterly torn apart. 

“Of course I fucking wanted you.” Remus’s brow furrows, and he stares resolutely at the ground. “God, there are infinite alternate universes and there isn’t a single one in which I don’t want you.” 

“You kept asking me to leave.” 

Remus gazes at him for a moment, bottom lip trembling. “I’m not well, Sirius. You don’t understand how deeply unsexy chronic illness is; how little I feel like myself when I’m in a flare. It’s not necessarily something I wanted you to see. And I certainly didn’t want you to feel like you had to take care of me.”

“I wanted to. I wanted you to let me in.” 

Remus doesn’t seem to hear him. “It’s bad enough that you’re so much younger when I’m well and can keep up with you. But when I can barely walk up the stairs, it’s mortifying. And this isn’t something that’s going to go away, Sirius. You’d have tired of all of it, sooner or later.” 

Sirius isn’t convinced about that. He’s not sure the illness bothered him one bit, actually, looking at those lovely fatigued eyes, deep set in that lovely fatigued face. 

But then he did get frustrated, didn’t he? And he acted out when Remus didn’t want to meet him. He feels a sticky discomfort in the pit of his stomach when he thinks that he was so bullish in trying to get Remus to do something he wasn’t feeling up to. 

“I’m really sorry,” he tries. “It honestly wasn’t an... amorous encounter,” he tries. 

“I believe you,” Remus nods. “I do. But are you telling me it wouldn’t have progressed, Sirius? Can you look me in the eye and say that you definitely wouldn’t have had sex with that girl tonight?” 

Sirius is quiet for an incriminatingly long time. It’s not a no. But it’s also not quite a yes. 

Remus sighs, world weary. “I can’t do this anymore.” 

Sirius nods, throat thick. “I know.” 

“It’s not the girl,” Remus explains. “It’s not her. It’s not the fact that you were out having a good time, I just-- this just serves to demonstrate that we’re at such different junctures in our lives. I’ve done all of this--” he gestures at Sirius, at the line of bars that glisten in the rain. “I’ve done the clubbing and the drugs and the casual sex. I don’t want to do it again. And I don’t need the mess and the politics and the inevitable heartache of being with someone who does still want it.” 

Sirius fidgets in place. “I don’t even enjoy this stuff anymore.” 

“You looked like you were enjoying it from where I was standing.” 

Sirius’s throat is tight and his voice comes out horse. “I like you so much-”

“We’re in very different places,” Remus says assertively, cutting across him. “You’re gorgeous and reckless and when you walk into a room, it’s you that everyone looks at. You can do whatever you want, fuck the consequences.”

“I don’t--” 

“But I don’t do this, Sirius.” His hands are thrust into his pockets and he alternates staring resolutely at the ground with little glances at Sirius. “I don’t stumble into hot affairs and change my lovers as much as I change my tumble dryer sheet. I’m more of a smoke alarm battery sort of guy. And you don’t need to feel guilty because you’re not. It just means this can’t work. I knew it from the start, really. You’re too young. We’re too different.” 

Sirius groans, frustration bubbling over because he can’t get close to getting his feelings across. “I don’t want this to end,” he says helplessly, breathlessly. 

Remus looks at him for a long while. “That’s not your call, Sirius,” he says gently. And this time, he doesn’t take a step backwards, but holds out his arms and takes Sirius into a warm and tender embrace. He presses a kiss to Sirius’s hair and he can feel him breathing shakily. 

“When you’re in the room, it’s only you I’m looking at, really,” he says into Remus’s neck. “But I’m jealous and impulsive and I can’t-- I can’t change who I am at my core.” 

“I liked who you were at your core,” Remus mutters, kissing his head again like he’s having difficulty letting him go. He breathes out slowly. “I think you think that nobody loves you, or that you’re not deserving of it when it happens,” he says in a whisper. “But you just have to start liking yourself enough to catch some of the love that’s thrown your way.”

And God, that one feels like a punch to the stomach. 

And then Remus is pulling away, loosening his grip, and Sirius can’t help but feel that of all the stupid, selfish things he’s ever done, this has to be one of the stupidest and one of the most selfish. And if Remus’s baser instincts are to reach out and comfort him, Sirius’s are to hold onto him, to stop him from walking away, because if he can stop him, he can- 

But no. He wants what’s best for Remus, too. And, no matter which way he spins it in his own head, what’s best for Remus is certainly not him. So he lets him walk away, pretends not to notice when he chances a glance backwards. 

He stands there uselessly, long after Remus has gone, letting the rain soak through his jacket. 

He isn’t sure quite how he gets home. There’s water, and lights, and a pedestrian crossing that he fails to navigate properly, prompting a barrage of abuse from a cabbie. But he makes it somehow, stalks past James and Lily and up to his room, slamming the door and slumping against it, hand pressed shakily to his mouth as he realises what he’s done. 

When Sirius wakes up, everything is the same. The sun has risen, the day is new, and the gnawing in his gut is nothing to do with the tequila shots. 

The first thing he does is go online and order a bottle of the posh verbena shower gel Remus uses, in the hope that it will bring him some morsel of comfort. Then he gets up to feed Paddy and let him out in the garden so he can do his business. 

He takes the duvet off his bed and bundles himself up in it on the sofa. He pores over his comfort viewing options and settles on Teen Wolf for a spot of mindless attractive werewolf action. 

James shuffles in. 

“I got dumped,” Sirius announces, and James gets right under the duvet with him. 

“What are we watching?” 

“Teen Wolf.” 

“She’s hot.” 

“Yeah. He’s hot too,” Sirius agrees. 

“Yeah. So come on then, tell me all about what the bastard did.” 

Sirius groans. “Is it too early for a beer?” 

“Yes,” James asserts. “You alcoholic.” 

“I’m not an alcoholic, I’m an everyday drinker. I think there’s an important distinction to draw in there.” Sirius flops his head onto James’s shoulder. “I did a stupid thing. I was cross because he didn’t want to come out for Marlene’s thing. So I talked myself into thinking he didn’t want to be with me at all, and he showed up when I was sucking lime out of a Brazilian model’s mouth.” He pauses. “It sounds worse when I say it out loud.” 

“You’re such a fucking knob,” James says, patting him on the head. 

“Yeah.” Sirius stares at the ceiling. “He said... he said I need to start liking myself enough to catch the love that’s thrown my way.” 

“Fuck. I love this guy. He’s really got you sussed, hasn’t he?” James turns the volume down on Teen Wolf and turns to face his friend; his other half; brother in arms. “You know, all of this was just one big self-fulfilling prophecy. You met a guy. He was perfect for you. But maybe a little... too perfect? And a little... too respectful and kind and funny? So you started examining everything forensically. And on some level, you were always looking for signs he was going to bail. And once you start doing that, you’re always going to find them.” 

“I think the signs were real,” Sirius says, but he’s getting less sure with the passage of every hour. 

“And that’s your prerogative,” James says gently, as if he doesn’t believe a word of it.

And for some reason, that makes Sirius feel like even more of a child. “Have we got any coco pops?” he asks, battling with the pounding in his chest, figuring he may as well embrace it. 

\--  
On Fridays, their boss sometimes lets them finish early if they’ve met their sales targets for the week. And on this particular Friday, he’s smashed his targets so he makes his way home, via the off-licence.

He has two bottles of wine in hand, and suspects he might end up drinking both if James and Lily don’t come home some time soon. He hasn’t checked his phone for hours, so they may have tried to get in touch. He pulls it out of his pocket and his heart leaps in his chest as he sees a text from Remus, sent a couple of hours before. 

“I ordered it before we broke up to teach you on and I’d still like you to have it. It’s yours. The combination is 8323.” 

Sirius is confused now. He turns around and sees a bike, tethered to the railing outside the house, unsure how he walked past it the first time. It’s green and grey, and at a glance, brand new. It even has a bell. 

Sirius hasn’t cried since the day they called it off, but now, he wells up helplessly. He unlocks the bike and wheels it into the house, watching as Paddy sniffs it in interest. 

“Hi, Pads. Comment-ça va?” He musses with his fur. “This is a bike. I don’t quite know what to do with it, but it’s from a beautiful man, so we’re going to treat it with the reverence it deserves. Might even need to learn how to ride it, but that seems a little bit drastic, hmm?” 

He carries it up the stairs to his bedroom and clears a space for it where the dirty laundry usually goes. He pops the wine in the fridge, then takes Paddy out for a long walk, making the most of the warm, light August evening. 

Without thinking, they end up outside the vets. Paddy strains on the lead to go in; to go and see Remus. Sirius knows that he won’t be working tonight, and that he needs to pick up flea treatment. He’s still reeling from the bike incident, and, with Remus on the mind, he walks into the surgery, head held low in shame. 

“Hi Mandy,” he says quietly. “I think Re- Dr Lupin put some flea treatment aside for me.”

Mandy looks up from her paperwork and surveys him over reading glasses. “Oh,” she says. “It’s you.” 

Sirius is someone who has an almost pathological need to be liked. And normally when he can sense someone doesn’t like him, he won’t rest until he’s turned that opinion around. Right now, though, he feels like he deserves every ounce of contempt that she can throw his way. She’s a dab hand at it too; her death stare could probably subdue a small army. 

She gets the flea treatment from the drawer, and just the sight of Remus’s signature on the prescription is enough to elevate his heart rate. She makes to hand it to him, then retracts her hand, holding it too far away for him to reach. 

“You know,” she says conspiratorially. “He came in early every day so he could spend time with you before his shift started. He wasn’t even getting paid for that time. I haven't seen him do that for a single customer before or since.” 

Oh. 

“And he didn’t charge you for most of his consultation time.”

Oh. 

“He doesn’t wear his heart on his sleeve, Mr Black. He’s an introvert. But I think he really liked you, and it’s a shame you couldn’t make it work.” 

Oh. 

He gathers his thoughts and nods curtly. “It is a shame. I think he’s wonderful.” _Better than anyone_ , his mind supplies. “Is he doing okay?” he asks. 

“He seems to be,” she says, softening a touch and handing him the medication. “Not that we’d know if he wasn’t.”

When he gets home, he sits on the sofa and deconstructs this new knowledge, which points to the fact that Remus really did like him from the start. And he bought him a bike, so he seemingly liked him rather a lot. It doesn’t help. All it serves to do is make him feel even worse for being such a bulldozer; for expecting Remus’s behaviour to fit the very narrow mould of ‘acceptable’ that Sirius unfairly expected of him. 

He shuts his eyes and thinks about the expression on Remus’s face when he stood in that club, watching him all over that girl. He thinks about what he said. 

_I don’t stumble into hot affairs and change my lovers as much as I change my tumble dryer sheet. I’m more of a smoke alarm battery sort of guy_.

He thinks about the future that stretches before him. It’s a future where he can now go out as much as he wants, put his hands on strangers in bars, have primal, rutting sex with anyone who will have him. 

But he thinks it’s increasingly likely that he would trade all that in a heartbeat for the delicate look on Remus’s face when he’s about to come. And the thought that he might not see that look again, that he might be one of only a handful of people lucky enough to have seen it at all, fills him with a deep, unshifting sense of loss and shame. 

Because, he thinks, to be Remus Lupin’s smoke alarm battery is a remarkable thing indeed, and he blew it all like the petulant child he is. 

He groans into the sofa cushion and wipes a few stray tears from his eyes. And he realises with a jolt that Remus was wrong about one thing, and one thing only. 

Because now, at long last, the darkness might finally have overcome the light.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, so there is some reference to Sirius having had a shitty, abusive childhood in this chapter. Take care of yourselves, innit.

It’s been a week. 

One week since Remus walked away from him, told him he didn’t like himself, told him it wasn’t enough. 

Time moves slowly. It warps and bends. It plays tricks on him until he’s not sure which way is up or what day it is.

He looks at himself naked in the mirror that steams up with the heating shower. His knees are still bruised from when he got down on the hard cold tiles of Remus’s kitchen floor and licked his perfect hole until he was trembling and gasping, begging for his fingers. 

And there is a black, angry bruise on the inside of his thigh left by Remus’s teeth in a moment where things bubbled over into something magnificent and animal, and Remus had somehow managed to coax another orgasm from him when he really thought he was spent. 

The marks of Remus are everywhere, and he desperately wants to call him. He wants to tell him that Peter has finally got his car running, properly this time. He wants to tell him that James did go to the Young Lawyers awards in his traditional dress, and Lily did win her category. He wants to knock on his door and say sorry for being a huge cockwomble, then tenderly take him in his arms and, true to his promise, kiss every inch of skin on his lovely body. 

But what he actually does is step into the shower, slide the door closed, and stare into the abyss of his own existence. Then his stomach rumbles and he thinks about cheese on toast for a little while. Then it’s back to the abyss. 

When he gets out of the shower, he sits at the desk in his room in his towel skirt and opens his laptop. He Googles ‘how to like yourself’, and reads through the first few hits, realises that if he is going to make any sense of this, he will need coffee, and makes his way to the kitchen. 

Paddy gazes up at him adoringly. 

“Sup, Pads.” He gives him a big, enthusiastic bout of fuss and, once he’s secured his caffeine supply, lets him into his bedroom and resumes his seat. “Right, then. Let’s see.” 

He lands on one article on some new-age psychology website which already has him cringing. But he presses on, because this is important. It’s important because Remus told him it was important, and he trusts his judgment implicitly. 

If he thought reading the list out to Paddy would make it sound less stupid, he was sorely mistaken. He groans. “Ten ways to like yourself better. Blah, blah blah, preamble. Okay, here we go. Number one: don’t be afraid to confront your failings.” 

He glances at Paddy shiftily. “Failings. Not like I have any of them, am I right?” 

He grabs a notebook from the shelf and writes down ‘my failings’ in the margin and sets about making a list. He spends an hour on it, and by the time he’s finished, it reads as follows:

-Impulsive  
-Lazy  
-Immature  
-Drink too much  
-Horny like teenage boy but am grown man  
-Clingy  
-Deeply, painfully, horrifically insecure  
-Haven’t read a book in fifteen years. Might be illiterate now.  
-Grey pants

And there it is. A list of his shortcomings. There are more, no doubt, but those feel like the main ones. Now all he needs to do is... confront them. The article doesn’t go into detail about how to do this, merely suggests that he should think about and accept them; change what he can but try not to sweat the rest. 

It feels unlikely that he’s going to stop being impulsive. But he can probably be a little bit less lazy and immature. He can also drink less, but he’ll be damned if he’s going to cut down on his wanking schedule. 

_Clingy_. Hmm. Yes, that one is probably one to watch. Clinging all over Remus certainly hadn’t helped their relationship, so he’ll try to work on it.

 _Deeply, painfully, horrifically insecure._ Well, presumably that one is tied into the wider effort to like himself better. If he can achieve that, he can be more secure. He nods, pleased with that assessment. 

_Haven’t read a book in fifteen years._ That’s an easy fix. As are the pants. And after a spot of internet shopping, he is the proud new owner of three novels and some Calvins. 

He congratulates himself on a morning well spent and gets himself a lager from the fridge.

The drinking less can start next week.

—

“Number two: Step back and enjoy your accomplishments.”

The churlish part of him feels as though he doesn’t have any accomplishments to enjoy. But then Paddy flops his head down on his lap, and the fact that he’s still on this planet because he saved him, feels like no small feat. He is salesman of the month for the sixth month running. And that feels like an accomplishment, of sorts. Not that he really has to try. He writes the two things down. 

It feels like a depressingly short list, so he adds ‘got my degree’ at the bottom, because finishing a degree you hate is definitely an achievement, even if it chips away at your soul and leaves you a shell of the man you were when you began. 

\--

_Number three: Learn to look at the things you like about yourself in the mirror._

He strips off and looks at himself. The bruises left by Remus have disappeared now, and Sirius can’t help but miss them, just a little bit. 

He inspects his body and makes a mental list of the things he likes: neat little nose, nice straight penis, strong thighs, sick tattoos. He makes a conscious effort to skirt over the things he doesn’t: little paunch when he stands at the wrong angle, split ends, pale skin now that his summer tan is fading away. They’re none of them deal breakers. 

Of all the tasks, this is probably the easiest, given how much stead he places in the corporeal, how much he loves sex, and everything his body can do. He likes his body for the most part, and he decides it’s only right to spend the rest of the afternoon dicking around in his birthday suit in celebration of it. 

It’s what the list would want. 

\--

_Number four: Go on a date with yourself._

The additional text explains that he should take himself to the cinema, or out for a meal. And while there, he should spend some time reflecting on what’s going on around him. 

This one feels hard. Sirius has carefully constructed a life for himself where he hardly ever has to be alone. He lives with his best friends, works with his other best friend, has a carefully selected group of drinking buddies whom he knows will show up at the drop of a hat. Rescued a dog who follows him around, even to the toilet. 

He’s never been good at being by himself. It makes him think of his childhood, when his mother would lock him in the cellar if he dropped a mark on an exam or failed to show up for a piano lesson. There was no light down there, and it was damp, and dank, and he was more alone than he ever wants to be again. If he made a peep, his mother would add an hour onto his detention, and she didn’t give a flying fuck if this meant he missed his dinner. Regulus became impressively adept at sliding flat food-based objects under the door: a piece of ham, a scotch pancake, that sort of thing. 

Good old Regulus. 

Still, there is no comparison between that deep, unerring solitude, and the prospect of going out for a meal alone. He can do this. He can definitely do this. 

He books a table for one at a French restaurant where he once went with Petra on a date. It feels odd to walk in alone without the promise of meeting anyone there, but he rolls with it and orders a glass of wine while he surveys the menu. He has three courses and the dessert wine, and he’s there for two hours. No shameful dining and dashing for him. 

He doesn’t hate it. The food is remarkably lovely, and the waiter disproportionately impressed that he speaks French, but he eyes the mountain of bread still sat in its basket as he finishes off his main, and he can’t help but feel that meals like this are meant to be shared with someone special. There is a little pang of loneliness in his chest. But perhaps that’s okay. Perhaps it’s fine to admit that you’re lonely without letting it dictate your life and force you to make choices you will regret. 

He settles the bill and is glad, when he gets home, that Lily and James are there, bickering because the jelly hasn’t set, and Paddy is snuggled up to the radiator. 

They are his own little family and he loves them with all his crooked heart. 

\--

“I saw him today,” Sirius says when he’s worked up the courage. He and Lily are crocheting. It happens sometimes, but he tries not to talk about it. 

“Hmm?” Lily is attempting a hat. It’s more ambitious than her other projects, which have mostly been bookmarks and pencil-thin scarves. 

“Remus. I saw him outside the vets.” He leaves out several key details: that he positioned himself just across from the vets to eat his turkey sandwich in the vague hope that he would get a sighting; that he looked so lovely and relaxed as he leaned on a post and chatted to Hannah; that Sirius has been able to think of nothing but him for the duration of an agonising afternoon. “He looked really goo-”

“He’s seeing someone, Sirius.” She eyes him carefully. “Remus is seeing someone.” 

Lily and Remus have continued to see each other. It was the cause of a huge bust up between the two of them, but Sirius has got used to the idea now. 

Sirius snaps his crochet hook and it flies precariously into the air. “Oh fuck,” he gasps, catching one of the jagged halves flawlessly. “Who?” He stares straight ahead.

“His name is Hugo.”

“What sort of fucking name is that?” He jabs uselessly at his crochet with the replacement hook. 

“Maybe put the sharp object down while we’re talking about this, eh?” She takes it off him swiftly and he drops his tangled pile of wool, deflated. 

“This wasn’t part of the plan. I was meant to go off and get some life experience, learn to like myself, or whatever, and show him that I am mature enough to be in a proper relationship with him and have my name on the mortgage and learn to like olives. And then we’d fall into each other’s arms and have lots of sex and babies. He wasn’t meant to find someone else in the meantime.” 

“So you just thought he would stay single forever on the off chance that you’d one day get your shit together?”

“When you put it like that, it sounds silly,” he admits. “Does he ever talk about me?”

She arches an eyebrow. “Which answer would make you feel better?” 

“I think I’d like it best if you said he was completely besotted and letting me go was the biggest mistake of his life,” he says. “Anything else, it’s probably best to just say no comment.”

“No comment,” she says, patting him on the back. 

He picks up his crochet hook again. “I still think about him way more than I should.” 

And it’s true. They’ve been apart for weeks now; longer than they were ever together, but he still finds himself itching to ask his advice, wondering what he’s up to, wanting him still. 

He thinks about this Hugo, what he’s like. Does he take good care of him? Does he fuck him slow and dirty like Sirius knows he likes to be fucked? Do they ever come at the same time like they did? Does Remus give him chocolate afterwards and make sure he’s warm and comfortable in his bed?

Are they in love?

“How did they meet?” 

“Through a mutual friend,” she says. “Apparently, he’s quite lovely.” 

“I hate him.” 

“What are we going to do with you?” she asks, shaking her head. 

“Put me down, I think.” 

\--

Before he can get to number five, he hits rock bottom. In some ways, he’s relieved it’s happening now so he can get over it and move on. But it still takes him by surprise when, on a sunny Thursday afternoon somewhere on the cusp between summer and autumn, he realises that he’s nobody’s favourite person; that nobody really needs him; that it’s entirely possible that nobody even _wants_ him. 

He’s not sure what prompted it, but it’s terrifying, truly. Paddy, in all his lovely wisdom, greets him when he gets home with even more vigour than usual, as if to remind Sirius that he’s _his_ favourite person, and that _he_ does need him, lest he ever forget it. It gives him the resolve to revisit the article and move onto the next step. 

“Number five: Strive to be a better person, but don’t expect changes to happen all at once.”

He digs out the notebook again and takes to the garden to brainstorm some ideas:

-Make things up to Reggie  
-Do some volunteering  
-Try some mindfulness shit  
-Eat some fruit  
-Give up smoking  
-Try to be happy for Remus and swain  
-Go outside sometimes 

He reviews what he’s written. “Not much, then,” he says aloud. 

He rings Regulus and expects to get his voicemail but he picks up on the first ring. 

“I’m not sure I’m talking to you,” his brother says dryly down the phone. 

“Well, I always assume that’s the default, but you did answer the phone.” 

“Yes,” Regulus drawls. “More fool me.” 

“If I come to London, will you see me?” Sirius asks, not letting slip that his bag is already packed and his train tickets booked. 

“Will a no stop you?” 

“I doubt it.” 

He hangs up, smiling. And it’s so quiet that he can hear the chattering of a wasp as it strips Lily’s prized patio furniture of wood for its nest. The leaves are turning, now, and the evenings drawing in as he shamelessly tries to squeeze out the last breaths from summer. 

And he takes a moment to reflect on the past six weeks; six weeks without Remus where he has been particularly, emphatically alone. He thinks about the things that have happened since: the picnics in the park and evenings sat in beer gardens in the golden evening sun. 

So no, it’s not been the summer he envisaged, but it’s been a summer, nonetheless. 

He sighs, just a smidge away from contentment, and watches the wasp for the best part of an hour before the cooling temperature necessitates his return to the house.

\-- 

They meet in a dark pub that has a resident dog so big, Sirius thinks a small child could probably ride him like a horse. 

Regulus looks almost exactly like him, but just slightly off. He is skinnier, the angles of his face sharper, eyes deeper set in his head. He’s good looking, though; he even did some modelling when he was a teenager, and Sirius thinks that if they were to work together, there’s not really much they couldn’t achieve. 

“So how have you been, Reg?” he asks, tearing at his napkin. 

“Would you put that down?” Regulus scolds without venom. “I’m very well. How are you?” 

“Also well,” Sirius nods. “How’s work?” Regulus is an investment banker in the city. He wears Burberry suits to work and earns an eye watering salary, and Sirius isn’t quite sure what investment banking entails, but he bets he’s pretty good at it. 

“Oh, you know,” Regulus shrugs, and Sirius nods. But he doesn’t really know at all. 

“I’ve worked something out,” Sirius says once they have their order of chips that Regulus pokes at but doesn’t really make a dent in. “Mum was abusive.” 

Regulus looks at him over his pint glass. “Yes,” he says after a long while. “To you, especially.” 

“Yes.” He pauses. “It took me a long time to work that out. Strange, isn’t it? How are they?” 

“Same as ever. Mother is struggling with the reality of no longer being a Minister’s wife. I think she’s finally realising now that she sacrificed everything so that Father could be rich and powerful, and now he’s retired, all that’s left is the big TV.”

Sirius scoffs. “And the old man?” 

“Rather frail now, actually. I doubt he could beat you in a fist fight these days.” He says it flippantly, but it conjures a memory in Sirius that he hasn’t thought of for a very long time of his father’s arm pressed against his neck as he holds him firmly against the wall, and he can’t breathe, feels like he’s going to pass out. That same feeling finds its way to Sirius’s throat right now, and he finds himself fighting for breath, while trying to make out that everything is fine, for Regulus’s sake. 

“Just popping to the loo,” he says, and skitters off, sitting down on one of the toilets and using some of the breathing exercises Remus taught him after his first panic attack. He replays Remus’s low, calming voice, telling him to breathe, and he’s not sure whether to be relieved or ashamed when it works straight away. 

Regulus has the good grace to pretend that everything is normal when he goes back to the table. He has taken the liberty of getting them both another drink, and Sirius gulps half of his down in one. 

“Can you ride a bike, Reg?” he asks, nibbling on some nuts the woman behind the bar brought over with a smile. 

He looks at him like he’s off his rocker. “No. 

“No, me neither. People think it’s weird.” 

“Wanting to balance on two wheels and go just fast enough down hills that a puncture could kill you is weird.” 

“A bit, yeah.” He chews another fistful of nuts, possibly too many to have in one’s mouth while one is trying to maintain a conversation. “Can you swim?” 

“No, Sirius. I’m not a seal.” 

“No. No, I don’t suppose you are.” 

Regulus gets more chatty half way through the second drink, and by the time they part, Sirius is confident that he can cross Operation Reggie off the list. 

“Sirius,” he says as they exchange a tense hug outside the pub. “Therapy helps. Take it from someone who knows.”

Sirius nods. And he has booked a session before the day is out. 

His therapist’s name is Susan, and she is suitably stern when he first meets with her. She explains her qualifications to him, that everything they discuss will be confidential unless she is concerned for his safety or the safety of others, that she will adopt an integrative approach which combines psychotherapy and cognitive behavioural therapy. 

And then, she is asking him what he is hoping to achieve through their sessions, and he’s suddenly nervous. 

“Oh! Erm. Well, I think I might have some stuff from my childhood that I need to work through. And I’m on this quest, you see, to like myself a bit better. To be able to catch the love that’s thrown my way.” 

She looks at him like he might be a bit bonkers, but he comforts himself with the assumption that he can’t be the most bonkers person to have walked through these doors. So he presses on. “I think fundamentally, I don’t think I deserve to be loved. So that’s what I’d like to work on. Please,” he adds when her expression remains just as hard and unmoving. “You, see, there was this man,” he says in a rush. “His name was Remus and he was perfect and I was into him in this big, heart stopping way. But I sort of talked myself out of it, convinced myself that he didn’t want to be with me, or that I wasn’t good enough for him. And now we’re not together and he’s with someone else.” 

She nods curtly. “And do you still have amorous inclinations towards this man?” 

“Yes,” Sirius says quietly. “Yes, and they’re not really going away. Pretty much all of my inclinations are still directed his way.” 

She nods again. “And you said that you are on a quest to like yourself. Why is that, Sirius? Why do you find it difficult to like yourself?” 

“Well, I’m not sure there’s much to like,” he says, and it feels like he’s been broken open, because he’s never felt that way before. 

“Is that something you’ve been told?” she asks, face softening. “Or is it something you have convinced yourself of?” 

He ponders this. His mother’s face flashes into his mind, telling him that he’s useless, that he will never amount to anything, that he serves as nothing but a drain on his parents’ finances and time. It’s a message she must have relayed to him a hundred times, and perhaps, at some point, he let some of it penetrate his once thick skin. 

“I think my mother told me,” he says eventually. “For her, I was never enough. Not clever enough to go to Oxford. Not musical enough to go professional. Not straight enough to fit in with all her society friends and their ghastly offspring.” 

“Let’s unpick that,” she says, and she uncrosses her legs and flips over to a new page in her book. “Tell me about her.” 

\-- 

He hasn’t smoked a single cigarette since he resolved not to, but he has struggled slightly more in his mission to eat more fruit. On the way home he buys a pear. He takes one bite, makes a face, and discards it in a bush. 

There is a bite to the air that’s suddenly wintry, and he remembers that it will soon be hat season, which is a blessing. He looks really good in hats. 

Once home, he makes himself a coffee, gets comfortable on the sofa and whips his phone out. He has signed up with an organisation that pairs up lonely old people with more spritely, chatty people. All he has to do is ring four people a week and have a chat to them about whatever they want. So far, he has spoken to eight different old folks, and somehow they have always ended up talking about Downton Abbey. 

He’s never actually seen Downton Abbey, but he gives it the old college try, and by the end of their third conversation, Gladys has helped him to establish that if he were to end up with any of the characters, it would probably be Lady Jane. 

Tonight, she is telling him all about her cousin Mary whom she suspects of stealing her silverware on the sly over a period of several years. 

“The bitch always acts like she is an angel, like her bag doesn’t rattle when she leaves to get the bus.” 

Sirius is chuckling. “And pray tell, Gladys, have you ever confronted her?” 

“Oh, no dear,” she says schemingly. “I am a staunch Catholic so I am a firm believer that she will get her comeuppance when the Lord God makes his judgment.” 

He sniggers. 

“Don’t worry though. I’m no dinosaur. I don’t think your sodomizing will land you in hell. Why else would God have located the male G-spot in the bottom?” 

Sirius spits out his coffee. “Gladys!” 

She cackles.

They had covered his romantic situation on their call last week when she had asked him whether he was married, in a bid to set her up with her pretty next door neighbour. To his delight, she had taken it all in her stride, and he finds that he likes the old bag more and more with every call.

\--

_Number six: spend a weekend without worrying about how you look._

Oof. Now that’s a tough one. How is anyone meant to go a whole weekend without worrying how they look? Surely that is a pipedream at best? He glances at Paddy and has a brainwave. He spends an hour on the internet, and before he can rethink it, he’s hired a campervan and decided that they will go to the Lake District, just the two of them. They will hike and be merry and there will be nary a mirror in sight. 

It’s a great plan, but when they get there, he realises the van has no heater and just because he is on holiday, doesn’t mean it isn’t still November. They end up cuddling together for warmth and Sirius wraps himself in seven blankets as he eats baked beans cold from the can. 

But, to be fair, he hasn’t thought about his appearance for one moment since they got here, so he thinks this was a good plan, overall, and he feels like he’s making fair progress against the list. 

The next day, they climb a big hill and he thinks he might die. But he finds he likes it much better on the way down, and he ticks spending time outdoors off the ever-evasive, growing list. He’s also tempted to tick off ‘do some mindfulness shit’, because there’s something very zen about climbing a big hill, but he suspects that may be cheating, and Susan would say that he’s only cheating himself. 

And so, when he gets home two days later, sore-muscled and ruddy-cheeked, he has a bubble bath, finds a track of some monks chanting on Spotify, and he lights a candle that will supposedly help him find his inner Madonna.

After two minutes, he is bored stiff. He stares at the tiles on the walls and spots some flecks of black mould on the grout. He resolves to get the bleach on them once he’s out of his mindful trance. 

Lily comes in with a glass of wine and sits on the closed toilet seat. “You’re looking very lovely and relaxed.”

“Do you think it’s weird that we’re on bubble bath terms?” he asks. “And where’s my wine, please?” 

She laughs like a drain, disappears for a moment, then comes back with the bottle and an extra glass. “Say when.” 

“When,” he says, when the liquid nears the brim. 

She sits for a second or two, then scrunches her face up. “What on earth is that racket?” 

“Erm. It’s some Gregorian chants.” He takes a sip of wine. “For mindfulness purposes.” 

“Is it helping?” she asks, mouth quirking in the corner. 

“Too soon to say,” he says haughtily. “I think I prefer the wine and chat. But Susan says I should try to turn off my thoughts on occasion.” 

“Want me to go?” 

“Nah. My thoughts are even clingier than I am,” he winks. “How was your day?” 

She doesn’t answer that. “Don’t get cross,” she says instead. “I met Hugo.” 

“Whogo?” 

She laughs, then looks annoyed. “That was terrible,” she insists. 

“You can’t laugh and then deride me. It gives me mixed signals. Like when you say you hate ABBA but always do Knowing Me Knowing You on the karaoke. It’s just plain confusing.” He scoops up some bubbles, then makes himself a bubble beard. “Tell me everything,” he smoulders through Lily’s giggles. 

“Well, you’re right to hate him,” she says wisely. “He’s annoyingly perfect. Very attractive. Well-educated, nice voice. You know the drill.” 

“Well that’s dreadful news.” 

“Remus asked about you.” 

He splutters on his wine. “Oh?” 

“Smooth,” she snorts. “He said he saw you the other day, out walking Paddy.” 

He sits up enough that his nipples poke out of the water. “What did he say?” 

“That he saw you,” she says, not giving anything away.

“No, this is very important, Lily. What were his exact words?” 

She exhales. “He said he saw you and thought you were looking really well.” 

He pushes down the relentless fluttering of his heart. “Well what the fuck does that mean!?” 

She rolls her eyes. 

“Did he have a wistful look in his eye?” 

“Drink your wine and behave,” she sniffs. But she looks hopelessly fond of him, and stays until the precarious stage of his bath where the bubbles start to disappear, at which point she takes her leave. 

He turns off the Gregorian chants and stares at the ceiling. 

That night, he has a dream that Remus is in his bed. And he gets to touch him, and hold him, and tell him--

He wakes up at three and doesn’t go back to sleep. It’s enough to convince him that mindfulness is a load of old trollop, and he vows to try yoga instead.

\--

“Number seven: Think about the past, but don’t let yourself be overwhelmed with regret.”

He meets Paddy’s eyes and lets out a huge sigh. “I think I’m going to need a bit of help with this one.” 

\--

Susan is wearing Rudolph earrings that dangle ostentatiously from her ears. 

“Merry Christmas, Sirius,” she says, and her face does the closest thing to a smile he’s seen from her. That almost smile disappears and she frowns. “Sorry, how foolish of me. Happy Hanukkah.” 

He quirks an eyebrow. “...thank you?” (Sirius is definitely not Jewish). 

She nods, all business now. “How are you sleeping?” she asks. 

He thinks on this for a beat. “I have not been doing so well on that front.” 

She nods. “And when you’re trying to get to sleep, what is it that you end up thinking about?”

“How big space is. Whether I remembered to send that email. Sex. My mother.” He pauses. “Shouldn’t have put those two together. I think about London and wonder a lot where home is.” He taps out a rhythm on his knee. “Remus. He features heavily.” 

“What about Remus?” 

He ponders this. “I replay everything I did wrong, all the stupid mistakes I made. I make up how those conversations should have gone and contrast them with how they actually went. I think about his hands on someone else when they maybe could still be on me if I weren’t such a penis.” 

“It sounds like you are still steeped in regret,” she says kindly. 

“Yes,” he agrees. “But not just about him. It’s everything, really. I regret not telling my dickhead of a mother to go fuck herself on at least seven different occasions in my life. I regret the cruel, thoughtless things I’ve said and done to pretty much everyone I hold dear. I regret the swathes of time I’ve wasted worrying too much to lie back and enjoy myself.”

She looks at him intently. “Right, I want you to imagine, for a moment, that I am your mother. And I want you to tell her exactly what you wish you had when you were younger.” 

He lets out a puff of air and hesitates. “Okay, but we might be opening the floodgates here,” he says wryly. 

“Mother,” he starts, feeling decidedly silly. “Walburga. I think I might hate you. I think perhaps I despise the very fabric of you, which is hard because some of that is also the fabric of me. Sometimes I think I wouldn’t really care if you died.” He sighs. “And none of it was secret; there were people in my life who were concerned about me, and the teachers saw the bruises, you sadistic Harpy. James saw the bruises.” He heaves in a huge breath. “And it’s important to me that I let you know you’ve lost your most powerful currency because I’m not scared of you anymore. Also, I think I might have been gay all this time, so that’s something to tell all the girls at the tennis club, you pretentious, psychotic...” 

He runs out of steam and all he can do is stare at his knees.

“Excellent,” she nods, and scribbles something in her book. She puts her pen down and resumes eye contact. “She hit you?” 

“Yes. And locked me in the dark. Once, she put me in the empty chest freezer for twenty-four hours because I ate one of the canapes from the fridge which she’d got in from Harrods for some diplomat’s brunch. It wasn’t turned on or anything, but I’m not sure it was all that pleasant.” 

She writes something down and looks up. “None of it was your fault,” she says. And it’s the first time anyone has ever put it so bluntly. 

“Are you... it feels like it was my fault.” 

“It wasn’t. There are certain people in our lives for whom we will never be enough. The way to deal with that is not to let the weight of their expectations weigh us down, but to question whether those expectations are fair on us at all.” 

“But I’ve fallen so far of anyone’s expectations,” he says, feeling utterly useless and alarmingly close to tears. 

“We are the sum of our experiences, Sirius. And if we don’t make mistakes, we can’t learn from them and grow. It’s good to regret our past actions, provided that we don’t become obsessed with the ‘what ifs’, constructing an alternate past that can never be. Does that make sense?”

He nods.

“And what if I were to tell you, Sirius, that you are enough? That you have your faults. And regrets aplenty, but that people like you and value you anyway? That the mother who didn’t love you like she should have is the one who was warped, not you.”

He knows he is staring at her. “She is the one who was warped.” 

“Yes.” She checks her watch. “We are nearly out of time but shall we revisit the possible revelation about your sexuality in the new year?” 

He nods. “Yeah. Yes.” 

\--

There is no real need to discuss the sexuality stuff with Susan. Because once the words are out of his mouth, he knows them to be true. And it feels fairly obvious now that all the other stuff: the girls and the sex and the exhibitionism were nothing much more than... posturing. 

He doesn’t mind the revelation, actually. It’s like he’s been walking around in an ill-fitting suit all his life, then finally gone to the tailors and found one that feels right and fits all his bits snugly. 

Because he loves women. He does. He loves their hair and their softness and their wit. But when he thinks about sex, when he thinks about falling in love and growing old with someone, it isn’t a woman he wants those things with. It just isn’t. It’s a man. 

Maybe one with a moustache. 

Or thighs the size of tree trunks like his very own Chris Hoy. 

Or one with a room in his house that has a cabinet of cool fossils and specimens like in the Natural History Museum. 

Maybe all three. 

“Jimmy, if I were to tell you I was gay, what would your reaction be?” he asks him over his breakfast waffles. 

James glances up from the puzzle he’s doing. “Yeah, that’d be cool,” he shrugs, then returns to his task. 

Sirius huffs out a disbelieving breath. “That’d be cool?” 

James takes a sip of coffee and plasters a smirk on his face. “Sirius Black, are you coming out to me? Would you like this to be a momentous occasion or would you like me to take it all in my stride?”

Put like that, Sirius really isn’t sure which he would prefer. He frowns. “Erm. Pass.” 

James slaps him on the back. “I’m proud of you, man.”

“I’m definitely gay.” 

“I know, babe. I know. And I’m glad you’ve got there. You know we love and support you whatever.” 

“I do,” Sirius nods. “And really, I think that reflects badly on you.” 

“Just take it, dick splash. Catch the love I’m throwing your way.” This is where James starts flinging puzzle pieces at him and Lily walks in, sighing dramatically. 

“A puzzle fight,” she says sardonically. “But of course.” She makes her way over to the kettle. “Sirius, you’ve left the dirty chicken tray to soak for three whole days and now the sink smells like rotten death... ass.” 

“Rotten death ass. Is that what you’re going with?” He grins and stands up, letting the rancid water drain from the sink and popping the tray cleanly in the dishwasher. “There,” he declares, satisfied. “All sorted.” He scrunches his nose up. “God that does smell. My bad.” 

He puts Paddy’s lead on and they set off towards some fields a mile or so away in which Paddy loves to frolick, and Sirius loves to watch the expression on his face as he does. 

He whips out his phone for his bi-weekly call with Gladys. “Do you ever struggle stopping yourself from becoming consumed with regret?!”

“Isn’t the point of these calls to cheer an old lady up?”

“You’re not that old. How old are you?” 

“Ninety-four-and-a-half,” she says proudly. 

“Oh. Well, I take it back. You’re ancient.” 

“Thank you, dear. Now, what’s got your nose out of joint today?”

“I’m trying to move on from my prickly past,” he announces. “And forgive myself for past mistakes.” 

“Sirius,” she says sternly. “I admire the voracity with which you are pursuing self-furtherment but your twenties are all about making mistakes. To err is human, and all that. Be proud that you’ve lived enough to err at all, and realise that you can’t change what’s gone. And then go to Tesco, buy a pack of donuts and eat the whole thing. Or go out and find a nice young man to bonk. Add a few more regrets to the pile.” 

“I thought you were meant to be against casual sex?” he points out, navigating a stile one-handed with relative ease. 

“Catholics are meant to be against everything, love. It’s hard to keep up with all of them, isn’t it?” 

He sniffs. “Yeah.” 

“Oh, blimey, I haven’t told you! You won’t believe what Mary has been trying to pull now,” she whispers. 

“Lay it on me,” he laughs, letting Paddy off the lead. 

\-- 

He blitzes through the last three tasks on the list at speed:

_Number eight: Understand that no one is perfect._

Well, duh. 

This one feels obvious, and he’s fairly sure he came to terms with the fact many moons ago. Besides, perfection feels like it would be more than a little bit dull, when you can be delightfully imperfect instead. 

He crosses it off the list without another thought. 

_Number nine: Enjoy your personality, foibles and all._

“Ha. Okay.”

James always jokes that Sirius has never had to develop much of a personality because he has such a nice face. But he thinks he’s probably joking. There are lots of personality traits of his that make themselves known each day, whether he likes it or not. Neurosis. That’s a big one. Sarcasm. That’s another. Competitiveness, rashness, the occasional bout of spite. 

So some foibles, then. 

But he’s also very loyal. He loves hard, fights fair, enjoys fart jokes. And those are excellent traits in anyone’s book, surely? 

He notes this one down as ‘in progress’, to be revisited periodically. 

_Number ten: Like “most” of yourself as much as you can._

It’s an unseasonably warm Christmas eve, but the fire in the pub is lit nonetheless, and the gang are all wearing their Christmassiest attire. 

“But where are they before they drop, though?” Marlene asks, exasperated, antlers bobbing as she gesticulates. 

“What on earth do you mean? They’re just... higher up.”

“Like, on the inside or outside?” 

“They’re still in the scrotum. But they just drop lower when you hit puberty,” Sirius explains. “Here, pass that napkin and I’ll draw you a diagram.” 

He, Marlene and Peter are crowded around one table and James and Lily are at the adjoining one. He points out that theirs is the singles table and Marlene lifts her glass. 

“A challenge!” she slurs. “Sirius, Pete, my glorious self. Our mission, and you _will_ choose to accept it, is that we will all bring significant others to Christmas Eve pub next year. All three of us. And if one of us fails to come up with the goods, they are to streak in the street wearing nothing but a Santa hat.” 

Sirius chunters into his beer. But he toasts her waiting glass and immediately starts thinking of ways he can get around it. 

“Right,” Marlene shouts. “So, first thing’s first, I need to start dating. Who has a single friend they can set me up with?” 

“I know a nice lawyer,” Lily says after a moment. “Kevin. He’s shit in court but his paperwork is always just lovely.” 

“Psshhhht!” Sirius interjects. “Marls only fancies construction workers and women who look like Timothée Chalomet.” He giggles at his own joke. “Right, I have a Christmas toast to make. Glasses up in the air, please!” 

They all comply. 

“Here’s to Christmas. Here’s to you. And here’s to liking _most_ of ourselves, because not even Russell Tovey is perfect.” 

“Hear hear!”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter got away from me and kept growing. Sorry about that! Thank you for all of your lovely comments. You make lockdown significantly more fun .

Sirius has taken it upon himself to make lasagne. And he’s quite good at making lasagne, usually, but this evening, there are myriad challenges to his getting it right. 

Firstly, the kitchen is a mess. Granted, it’s a mess because he didn’t clean up after Taco Tuesday; his last elaborate culinary offering, but it’s a mess, nonetheless. 

Secondly, he realises there is no tomato purée. This setback is a minor one, and after a quick trip to the cornershop where he artfully avoids the banal chit chat of the cashier, Belinda, his supply is replenished. 

Thirdly, (and this is very much the straw that breaks the camel’s back) he cuts into an onion and it’s all brown and slimy inside. It’s his last onion. The onion he has been banking on. He cannot, _will_ not return to Belinda’s chatty clutches. 

“Right, that’s it!” He slams the knife down on the surface and looks for something he can break with his bare hands. He glances around the room but all he can see is an errant taco shell which he snaps in two, much to the amusement of Lily, who is sat at the table, typing away on her laptop and shaking her head at him.

He sighs. “Every fucking onion I’ve cut into in the last fortnight has been rotten. And I swear if it happens again, there is a very grave risk that I will kill a man.” There is a long pause where nobody says a word. She raises an eyebrow. He purses his lips. “Maybe this isn’t about the onion.”

He removes himself from the scene of the distress and takes a seat at the table. “Are you wearing James’s jeans?” 

“Mmm. I like them. Lots of room in the crotchal region.” 

“I’m glad?”

She nods. “Yes, thank you. I could put my entire purse in there if I wanted to.”

James saunters in and takes three beers from the fridge. He de-caps them with a spoon and takes the third seat at the table. “Evening, my darlings.” 

“Hi mate,” Sirius harrumphs. 

“Sirius is having a little crisis that may or may not be about onions,” Lily explains gently. 

“Oh, I see. And what do we suspect the onion-based crisis might really be about?” he asks. “A lanky vet, perchance?” 

“Perhaps,” Sirius nods. 

Lily and James exchange a look.

“Mate, we’ve been talking about it and we really think it’s time you tried to move on.” 

He glares at them. “I’d really rather not.” 

Lily has her kindest, most concerned expression splashed all over her face. “There are so many other men out there. Ones with cool accents and millions in the bank and facial hair like Tolouse-Lautrec. Remus doesn’t have any of those things, does he?”

“No,” he grumbles. “But I’m not sure I want any of those things. I feel like I just want him.” 

She sighs. “Will you just go on one date? For me?”

Lily knows that his weakness is her big, honest eyes. He takes one look at them and deflates. “Fine,” he huffs. “One date. But I don’t promise to enjoy it.” 

“Deal. I think it’ll be good for you to get out of the house. To speak to someone who isn’t me, James, or Marlene.”

“What are you talking about? I think we have a very healthy dynamic.”

“Sirius,” Lily says gently. “You came away with us on our anniversary weekend break.” 

“So?” 

“So, I was hoping for a nice romantic weekend away and what I actually got was the three of us in a weird B&B and you and James thinking it was the funniest thing in the world to drink a bottle of marshmallow vodka, smoke a spliff, strip off, and dunk your testicles in the teacups that had been laid out for breakfast the next day.” 

“Teabagging, Lily. We teabagged the teacups. The joke only works if you use teabag as a verb.” 

She loses them, then, as they descend into giggles from which there is no escape. They do recover, eventually, and James tells them about the latest gossip doing the rounds in Year 7. 

“You see, Tatum and Evelyn have broken up. Tatum says they’ve been drifting apart, but Evelyn is heartbroken; didn’t see it coming. Cue tiny lesbian drama. It’s all anyone can talk about.” 

“We were never this dramatic,” Lily asserts. 

“I know. And to make matters worse, Tatum got her friend to do the deed for her. Which feels like a low blow.” 

“Sirius was still pulling that one well into his twenties,” Lily quips, but he isn’t listening. “Are you with us?” she asks. 

“Yes, sorry. I was just thinking about how that poor girl is young enough that it’s conceivable her mother named her after Channing Tatum. I was trying to do the maths. When did She’s the Man come out?”

\--

“But you love hot sauce!” 

He glares at Lily, who has been attempting to convince him to accompany her to Bristol Chilli Fest since he took the first bite of his bacon sandwich that morning. His trust in her judgment is somewhat battered since the distressing ordeal that was his date with Geraint From the Internet last Saturday; a protracted, torturous affair which prompted him to declare that he would never date again. “Your point?” 

She blows a raspberry, exasperated. “You could buy a whole vat of it, I bet. And it would get you out, rather than sticking to my nice leather sofa all day because you’re wearing nothing but your little grey pants.” 

“They’re white,” he protests. 

“They would be, Sirius, if you ever thought to separate your white things from your black t-shirts.” 

He harrumphs and doesn’t dignify that with a response. “Will there be burritos, do you think?” 

“Oh,” she grins. “I’d say so.” 

There are no burritos. And the chilli fest turns out to be only a cluster of stalls and a bar. They’ve done the whole thing in half an hour so Lily lays out her scarf on the grass and the two of them huddle together with a pint.

It is beyond freezing and there’s a fine sheen of drizzle in the air. 

Paddy thrusts himself between them and watches the people milling around, all of them wearing mildly disappointed expressions and about nineteen thermal layers. 

Sirius pulls a face as he takes a sip of what may as well be pure vinegar. “God, that’s ghastly.” 

“Not great, is it? James will be thrilled to know he’s not exactly missing out.”

“I’ll get him some of that red hot cheese to come home to.”

“He’ll like that,” she smiles, looking at him inquisitively. And then her eyes float upwards and fix on something in the distance. The smile is wiped clean from her face and she mutters “shit” under her breath. Sirius turns to see what the fuss is about and wishes he hadn’t. 

Remus is walking towards them. He’s with a man who has marvellous hair and a bum chin, and silly translucent glasses that make him look all clever and suave and trendy. The man has a hand pressed to the small of Remus’s back and Sirius’s heart flops around all over the shop. 

“Can we join you?” he asks. The timbre of his voice makes the hairs stand up on the back of Sirius’s neck. He gazes upwards, up at Remus who towers over them. His hair is cut short and he has a sort of beard that makes him look so handsome, Sirius could curl up in a ball and die. 

Paddy is straining hard against his lead in a bid to get close to Remus. It throws Sirius off balance and he topples onto his side. “Oh!” He loosens the lead and lets Paddy smother Remus in the affection he wishes he could give instead (although there might be a little less face licking his way. Marginally less face licking.) “Yes, alright, hello,” he says eventually, and Lily smiles at him, proud as punch at his civility and poise. 

Remus looks well. He looks really well. He sits down on the ground and he’s all limbs, sticking out at every angle. His companion, however, lowers himself gracefully, and they sit, knees touching, opposite Sirius and Lily. 

“Not very warm, is it? This is Hugo,” Remus explains, neck reddening from underneath his collar. “Hugo, this is Lily and Sirius.”

Hugo scratches at his neck, all faux humility and nice face. It’s awful. “Oh, Sirius,” he says, looking between them. “Lovely to meet you.” He has an accent that betrays a childhood of elocution lessons and an expensive education (Sirius knows because he also had a childhood of elocution lessons and an expensive education, but at least he has the good grace to feel a bit embarrassed about it and to make up for it by saying the word ‘cunt’ a lot).

Sirius shakes his hand too hard and finds himself nodding maniacally. “And you, mate. And you.” But his fingers are crossed behind his back, so that’ll show him. Ha. 

Remus is sat nearest to him and Sirius is certain that he’s not going to be able to formulate words. It’s a bit like being starstruck, but with love. And there is probably a word for that, he thinks.

“It’s been a while,” Remus smiles, a soft, knowing thing. Sirius can only just hear him over the hammering of his heart in his chest. 

Sirius knows that it’s been exactly four months and twenty-three days, but it feels weird to mention it. He spots with a jolt that Remus is wearing the scarf he bought him, and he likes to think he wears it frequently, likes to think it still reminds him of him. 

“Yeah. Yes. Ages! How’s it going?” He looks Remus in the eye and has to look away because in the crisp February cold (really, who decides to put on a food festival in February?), his eyes are bright and clear and just really very lovely. 

“Everything is good.” Remus’s knees are pointed towards him and he’s shaking a little already from the cold. “I removed a complex vascular tumour from a pitbull yesterday so I’m still riding that high.” 

Sirius grins. “And I was quite pleased with myself for finally tipping some Mr Muscle down the sink that hadn’t been draining. It’s all relative, I suppose.” 

Remus smiles fully and Sirius’s breath hitches. Without his permission, his own lips split into a grin, and there’s a brilliant few seconds where they are just smiling at each other like a pair of smiling idiots. 

“So, Sirius,” Hugo’s voice dissolves the moment and he resents him for it. “What is it that you do?” 

Sirius tears his eyes away from Remus and fixes them instead on this posh fellow whose presence is so, so far from welcome. “Oh, Hugh, is it?” he asks childishly and Lily nudges him in the side. He waits for him to correct him and nods innocently. “Hugo. Lovely. Well, I’m a hop merchant. I sell hops to small breweries all over the country.” 

Hugo nods, smiling, and Sirius wishes that his primary urge was to smack him, to initiate some sort of territorial fisticuffs. Instead, he wants to plead with him; for what, he’s not quite sure. For Remus, he thinks, but then he realises that’s insane. 

They exchange pleasantries for a while, but it’s all just that; pleasantries. Remus asks at one point whether he’s learned to ride his bike yet, and Sirius shakes his head sadly. He doesn’t tell him that the whole reason he wanted to learn has gone away now, but that he hasn’t been able to bring himself to sell it, or even to lend it to James. 

When eventually, they are all so cold that they can’t feel their bottoms, they part ways. Remus nods at him, smiling. “See you soon?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, maybe,” he says. And when they’re gone, he turns to Lily. “Well that was fucking dire.” And he laughs, a little hysterical. Because at this point, laughing is just much easier. Honestly. 

He buys two packs of the spicy cheese in the end. To cheer himself up. He eats all of his when they get home and rings Gladys while he’s still feeling decidedly sick. 

“Gladys, I saw him.” 

She gasps. “You saw Hugh Grant?” 

“No! What? No! Why did you go straight to Hugh Grant? Why would Hugh Grant be in Bristol? _Remus_ , Gladys. I saw Remus!” 

“Oh.” 

“You don’t sound very enthused.”

“Well, it’s not exactly Hugh Grant, is it?” 

“No, sorry. It feels difficult to come back from that now.” 

“You saw Remus. Why don’t you start from there?” 

“Yes, right. He was at this chilli festival, right? With this Hugo chap, who is frustratingly fit and stylish.” 

“Like Hugh Grant,” she says sagely. 

“No!” He lets out a helpless laugh. “Well, yes, a bit, actually. But the point is, Remus is alive and well and when I saw him, I thought my stomach might explode. And that was _before_ all the spicy cheese.” 

“I see. And you still felt all the feelings?” 

“I did. If anything, the feelings have intensified in absentia.” 

“Did you at least look your best?” 

“Yes, as luck would have it. I was wearing my new Docs and the coat that gives me some serious smoulder.” 

“There we are then,” she says, distractedly. “He’ll be knocking down your door in no time.” 

\--

Sirius knows, on some level, that he has not, historically, always been the best judge of affairs, but this time, he really is at least seventy-percent sure he’s not going to make it through the night. 

He’s burning up, scalding hot, then shaking with chills within the space of a minute or two. He musters the energy to call in sick, then decides it’s best to stay firmly where he is, so that when his body is discovered, it’s James who discovers it and it won’t matter one bit whether he has any dignity in death. 

Lily puts a huge bottle of cough medicine on his bedside table as she leaves for work. She pats him on the shoulder twice and tells him to call if he’s on death’s door. 

He sleeps fitfully all day, never for more than twenty minutes at a time. The light from his laptop makes him nauseous so he puts Radio 4 on for its dulcet, soothing tones and waits for death. 

He wishes aloud that Remus were here to look after him. And then he swigs a generous dose of the medicine and closes his eyes. 

There is a bright light that sears his retinas. His head is cold and his body is hot, and he is the infant Christ, wrapped in swaddling cloth. 

And then his head is hot and his body is cold, and he’s been sent to the Earth on an undercover mission from the Martian version of MI6 who need him to find out (as a matter of some urgency) how humans make roller coasters. 

And then his head is wet and his body is dry, and he’s being attacked by capybaras who pin him down and ruthlessly lick his nose. 

And then he wakes up. 

It turns out that what’s licking him is not a herd of capybaras but his dog. Which makes more sense, really. And the reason his head is okay now is because someone has put a cool flannel over his brow. It takes him a moment to come to, but when he does, Remus is perched on a chair at the opposite end of the room and he’s doing a crossword with his feet propped up on the bed. 

He’s not sure whether it’s real or another fever-induced hallucination.

“Oh,” Remus says calmly when Sirius gasps. “Hello. How are you feeling?” 

“Confused,” Sirius groans. “How did you get in?” 

“Lily,” he confirms. 

“Lily’s at work.” 

“Sirius, it’s nine-thirty. It’s dark outside.” Remus is calm and amused. 

“Why are you here?” Sirius asks, after trying to connect the dots and coming up empty. 

Remus’s mouth tilts up on one side. “You asked me to come.” He takes his phone out of his pocket and hands it to Sirius to show him a string of texts, each more ridiculous than the last.

_“Remus, I’m ill.”_

_“Cum look after me.”_

_“Think iv got the scurvs. Teeth might fall out. Should have listened to u and sucked a lemon.”_

_“Miss you.”_

_“Pls cum. Ate all the cough syrup and now can see smells. LOL.”_

_“Goodbye, my sweet. This is the end. Pls remember me when I was young and hot and still had teeth.”_

Remus says nothing while he scours the texts, feet still propped up on the bed. Paddy tucks himself between them and Sirius hands the phone back, sheepish. 

“Sorry about that,” he mumbles. “You can go now, I’m fine.” 

“Right,” Remus nods. “Yes, okay. Here, I brought you some homemade tomato soup. And Edna sends her best wishes for a speedy recovery.” 

“Thank you.” Sirius snuggles under the duvet and with every fibre of his being wishes that Remus would snuggle right along with him. “I’m sure Hugo has his shit together much better than me,” he says quietly, muffled through the quilt. “Sorry, ignore me. I must have febrile delirium.” 

“You don’t have febrile delirium, you just have no filter.” 

Sirius hums, and now his entire head is under the duvet cover. “Thank you for coming.” 

“Of course I came. You asked me to.” 

There is a long silence and Sirius thinks Remus might have left. But then he feels a cool thumb brush his temple and it sends shivers all down his body in a way that’s unrelated to his probable terminal fever. 

“Call me if you need me,” Remus says quietly, and the door clicks closed. 

\--

Somehow, what follows is an impasse. An accord, of sorts, so that instead of Lily and Remus hanging out covertly, they do it in the open, and sometimes when they go out as a group, Remus comes along, either with Hugo or without. 

Hugo, it transpires, is a writer. Because of course he’s a fucking writer. He drinks gin and slim, and he wears corduroy trousers and he actually _enjoys_ opera. He has a French Bulldog and a master’s degree and he smells like rainbows. In essence, he is a good match for Remus, and Sirius is pleased for them. 

Nine times out of ten, he’s pleased for them. 

Okay, seven times out of ten, he’s pleased for them. The rest of the time, he seethes to himself, or subjects James to endless, aggressive games of pool so that he doesn’t have to watch the way Hugo’s hand curls around Remus’s neck; fingers resting at the sharp junction of his collar bone. 

One night in particular, when Remus rocks up wearing his glasses and a white collarless shirt, Sirius is a little bit less pleased for them. Hugo is there, as are the Potters, and Peter. They meet at the dive bar and Sirius is quick to realise that he needs to settle his nerves with some amber talking juice. He tries to inject exactly the right amount of bum wiggle into his walk, but knows that it’s a fine balance between not enough wiggle and looking like he’s wearing a nappy. He hopes he’s got it right. 

The barman, the one who is moderately attractive and ostensibly gay and has always failed to show any interest in Sirius, lights up when he ambles up to the bar and orders the beer. 

“How’s your evening?” he asks, polishing the glasses before pulling the pints. 

“Bloody awful.” 

The guy lets out a breath of laughter through his nose.

“Does my misery amuse you?” Sirius quirks an eyebrow.

“I’d be lying if I said no.” He winks and slides a shot across the bar. “On the house,” he says. “So do you want to invoke the barman/customer confidentiality oath and tell me all about it?” 

Sirius downs the shot and drums his fingers on the bar. “ _It_ is sat just over there with his annoyingly lovely new boyfriend,” he says before he can stop the words coming out of his mouth. 

“Ah. And might _it_ be an ex of yours, perchance?”

“Bingpot.” 

“And are we hating on him or pining after him?” 

“Pining. Hard.” 

The barman laughs again and lifts the full pints onto the bar. “Killer,” he says, and takes the crisp twenty from Sirius’s hand. “He’s quite attractive, isn’t he?” 

“Ughhhhhh.” Sirius flops his head down to rest on the bar. “He’s so fucking attractive. And inspired. And clever.” 

“Killer,” he says again, patting him slowly on the head.

He makes his way back to the table, artfully managing to carry four pints: for Lily, James, Peter and himself. He can feel Remus’s eyes on him as he sits down, then he resumes his conversation with Lily and Hugo while Sirius skilfully asks Peter about his car so he can have a full conversation without the burden of having to actually listen to any of it. 

He ends up getting the next round, too, mostly so he doesn’t have to try so hard not to make eyes at Remus across the table, so he can be free, if only momentarily, from the heat of his gaze. 

“What’s your name?” he asks the barman, glad of the distraction. 

“Cameron.” He has geometric-style tattoos and artfully coiffed hair, and he’s appealing. Sirius is glad he didn’t get that one wrong. “Cam. And you?” 

“Sirius.” 

“Great name,” Cam says, getting the glasses in place once more. “How are you getting on with Mr surly over there?” 

“I think we might be becoming friends,” Sirius explains through gritted teeth. “Apparently, as an adult, you’re expected to be all mature, and that includes the expectation that you will refrain from jumping the object of your affections when they go for a piss.” 

“Tragic.” 

“It is, isn’t it.” 

The barman, Cam, jerks his head to the centre of the bar and Sirius looks round to see Remus making his way towards him. He turns back around, panicked, and fixes his wide eyes on Cam who grins wickedly. 

“What can I get you?” he asks Remus, who takes the spot beside Sirius. 

“Two pints of Citra, please.” 

“Coming up.” 

Sirius is just thinking about how to break the silence when Remus beats him to it.

“So I’ve been thinking,” he says, looking straight ahead and pointedly not at Sirius. “About you. Specifically, about your bike. The one that’s sat in your bedroom unridden.” 

“It makes a very good drying rack for pants,” Sirius points out. 

Remus huffs out a laugh through his nose. “Ah, so not going to waste at all, then. Well, in that case, don’t mind me, I’ll just be heading back...” 

Sirius laughs loudly and chances a look at Remus, who has a lovely ease about him this evening. “I’m sorry. What were you saying?” 

Remus’s eyes are fixed on him. “The offer to teach you still stands.” 

“Really?” 

Remus smiles softly. “Yes. No pressure, though. And honestly, if you’re not into the idea, you can sell it and I won’t be offended. It’s yours to do with what you want.” 

“I want to learn,” Sirius says, and it’s the full truth. “Let’s do this! When are you around?” 

“Saturday?”

“Yes,” Sirius says, chest constricting. 

“Okay,” Remus nods, smiling widely. “I’ll look forward to it.” And then, just as he did all those months ago, back when he was still Dr Lupin, he looks a little bit cross with himself, and seems to make a conscious effort to neutralise his expression. Something bubbles up in Sirius’s chest, and it’s a something that feels an awful lot like hope. 

Cam is still pouring Remus’s pints, fixing Sirius with a knowing smirk, and Remus is so very close. 

“So, I’ve got a bone to pick with you,” Remus says conversationally.

“Mm?” 

“Apparently, you keep coming into the practice when you know I’m not going to be there. I write Paddy’s prescriptions, put them up, then next day, they’ll be gone.”

Sirius looks at him. “Can you blame me?” 

“Not even a little bit. I walked a mile out of my way last month so I didn’t have to walk past your office.” 

Sirius laughs helplessly and nudges Remus with his elbow, and they’re both smiling when Cam hands over the pints. 

Remus sighs and walks back to the table. Cam raises an eyebrow at him. “Stop,” Sirius laughs. “I know. I know, it’s fucking pathetic.” 

When Sirius gets back to the table, Remus is smiling to himself and he glances up at Sirius, eyes crinkling warmly. Sirius’s lip twitches in response and he takes his seat, trying to ignore the sight of Hugo lacing his fingers with Remus’s, whispering something in his ear. 

It makes him feel a bit sick, actually. Even more so when Hugo starts kissing Remus’s neck, which Sirius thinks would be a little bit much, even if he weren’t completely enamoured with the recipient of said kisses. 

He grabs James by the arm and grunts an instruction, nodding at the pool table. They pick their cues and take their places.

James leans into his space and says “I think you’re in with Brando over there. He’s been making Jessica Rabbit eyes at you all night.” 

Sirius looks over at the bar and is met with Cam’s sweet, sexy smile. He smiles back and turns to James. 

“I’ve had a thing for that guy for like two years.” 

James lights up. 

“But--”

“No! Absolutely not. No but!” He looks beyond exasperated. “Mate, look at him.” He gestures in Remus’s direction. “He’s taken, Sirius. I mean, he is _so_ taken.” 

The two of them watch as Hugo pretty much sticks his tongue in Remus’s ear. He likes to think that Remus looks at least a little uncomfortable, but then he’s certainly not asking Hugo to refrain.

Sirius sighs. “Okay, fine. Do I still have feelings for Remus? Yes. Do I think that he’s the one and I will never be happy with anyone else? Yes. Does it physically hurt every time I see him with Hugo the toff? Yes. Absolutely. But will I let it consume me and ruin my life? Also yes.”

They meet each others’ eyes and James shakes his head. “I’m not saying you need to marry the hot barman. And I can almost guarantee that the hot barman has zero interest in marrying you. But I think you should let him take you home and make you feel lovely. Do some sex stuff to his skinny bod. Get your end away. Bish bash bonk.”

Sirius huffs out a laugh. “I’ll think about it,” he says. 

“It’s all I ask.” James slaps him on the back and heads back to the table, leaving Sirius throwing darts at the board and chancing the odd glance towards the table where Hugo appears to have unhanded Remus. And Sirius isn’t sure if he’s imagining it, but he thinks that Remus might look a bit miffed about the whole thing. 

And then, they’re leaving. Hugo is holding Remus’s hand like it might fall off, but Remus is looking Sirius’s way, and he looses the hold for a second to wave at him. Sirius waves back, grinning in a way that must surely give him away. 

He breathes out slowly, throws a triple twenty, then walks back to the bar and keeps Cameron company till close. They leave together and go back to his, and it feels so exquisite to be touched by someone who fancies him, who knows what he wants and how he wants it. 

They don’t have sex, but there are handjobs, and there’s brandy, and Sirius comes at the hands of another for the first time since Remus. 

It’s brilliant, it’s needed, it’s absolutely nowhere near enough. 

\--

“Okay, so there are some basic principles I think we can employ, here.”

Remus is wearing what can only be described as athleisure wear: retro Adidas tracksuit bottoms and a polo shirt. And to top it all off, the glasses. To be honest, he looks like something straight out of GQ, and Sirius is having thoughts. 

They are in the park and it’s raining. It’s a blessing, really, because usually there are hordes of small children circling around the bandstand on their stabilised bikes, but today, it’s deserted and it’s just them, the bike and the drizzle. 

“To begin with, I think we’ll just put the seat really low so you can reach the ground. And we’ll put you in a low gear so it just sort of... rolls.” He scrunches his face up. “Can you tell I have no idea what I’m doing?” 

“Yes, sorry. You’re not nearly as convincing as you think.” 

“Shall we just... go for it?” 

Sirius expels a huff of air through his nose. “I’m not confident in your abilities but I will fall on my sword.” 

“Put your helmet on.” 

“I don’t have one.” 

“I knew you’d say that, so I took the liberty of bringing mine.” He rummages in his rucksack and whips out a red, plastic helmet which he thrusts into Sirius’s hands. 

Sirius looks at the helmet, then at Remus, then back at the helmet. “You’re winding me up.” 

Remus’s mouth splits into a full grin. “You’re so vain.” 

“You probably think this song is about you,” Sirius sings, grabbing the helmet and plonking it unceremoniously atop his head. “I would like it noted that I wouldn’t surrender all my street cred for anyone else.”

“Okay, so I think you should just... get on.” 

“If you say the word straddle, I’m going home.” He clambers onto the bike and wobbles dangerously, clutching onto Remus’s bicep to steady himself. 

“Right, now we’re going to set off slowly, okay? If you fall, fall my way and I’ll try and save you.”

He’s changed his mind. This is fucking brilliant. 

“Okay.” Sirius holds onto Remus shamelessly while he puts his feet on the pedals. “It very much feels like being able to balance on two wheels has to involve some sort of witchcraft, though,” he grumbles as they set off, slowly at first, but soon at an alarming pace. At least it feels alarmingly fast, but Remus appears to still be walking, so they can’t exactly be going at warp speed. 

They do this for ten minutes and Remus says lots of encouraging things. He would have made a nice teacher, Sirius thinks as he watches him get further and further away. 

And further away. 

Which means Remus isn’t holding him anymore. Which means he’s on his own. Which means he is doing it; he’s cycling. There is a high pitched noise which he realises is his own squealing, and he’s not sure it’s hugely masculine or arousing, but a man can hope. 

Besides, he’s got this now. He can even go around corners, which feels incredibly fancy and maybe like he’s showing off a bit. 

He makes his way back towards Remus, whose eyes are fixed on him, expression warm and proud and... something else Sirius can’t place. 

There is an issue, though, in that Remus didn’t really teach him how to break, so when he reaches him, he has no choice but to throw himself off and let Remus catch him. Which is how he ends up wrapped in Remus’s arms; Remus who is looking down at him like he’s something wonderful and not letting go. 

God Sirius wants him. And he can feel it. He can feel himself puckering up, like his lips are moving of their own accord. Remus’s mouth looks so soft, and he’s still looking at him. And he’s almost certain that it’s Remus moving towards him, not the other way around. It’s ridiculous. It’s sexy. And when Remus’s brow creases and he pulls away, it’s all Sirius can do not to whimper like a child. 

Remus helps him off the bike then pats his shoulders down. 

“Do you want to go for a drink?” Sirius asks, scrabbling around for a way to stop Remus going home. Remus looks at him skeptically. “Celebrate my success? I’ll behave,” Sirius adds, trying to look as irresistible as possible. Which is a challenge and a half in a bike helmet.

“You’re buying,” Remus huffs, and they walk the fifteen minutes there chatting easily, Sirius wheeling his bike and pushing down the irrepressible sense of excitement that fizzes through his body. 

They chain the bike up and Sirius steers Remus into the corner of the pub that has the log fire, opting for the maximum romance factor. He buys a bottle of wine and tries not to gaze too lovingly at Remus on his way back. 

“So where’s Hugo?” he asks. 

Remus arches an eyebrow and explains that he’s away on a research trip in Moscow for a week. Sirius nods and pours them a large glass each, trying not to think about why Remus suggested they meet up while Hugo is so conspicuously absent. 

“So are you into him?” Sirius asks, feeling slightly brazen. 

“My boyfriend? Yes, somewhat.” Remus says, a little snappy. 

“Sorry. Let’s talk about something else.” He screws the lid back on the bottle and takes a long sip. “Something big has happened to me, actually. I’ve had counselling. Am still having counselling, technically. And my therapist has made me realise that I’ve never come to terms with my sexuality. Or my mother, apparently.”

Remus nods encouragingly. “Okay.” 

“And it’s been really helpful. I’ve realised, amongst other things, that I’m gay.” He scratches the back of his neck and waits on Remus’s response. 

“You’re gay.” 

“Yes.” 

His face flip flops around a bit and he obviously doesn’t want to be impolite by scoffing or laughing, but he’s evidently struggling against the urge. 

“Yes, I know that the circumstances of our breakup don’t exactly support the revelation, but it’s real. I have searched the furthest recesses of my soul, and ain’t nothing but cock in there.” 

Remus huffs a laugh at him and looks down to inspect the grain of the table before resuming eye contact. “I don’t want to be patronising here, but I’m really glad you’ve sought some help.” 

“Yeah,” Sirius nods. “Me too. And I might not... you know... like myself completely, but I think I’m an awful lot closer.” 

Remus is still looking at him, and it feels important that Sirius doesn’t look away. “Did you get counselling because of me?” he asks eventually. 

“Well, yes.” And somehow he knows that now is the time for complete candour. “When we broke things off, it brought a lot of things to the fore. And I think there was a lot that I’d been needing to confront for a while.” 

Remus’s mouth is stretched thin and he takes a generous gulp of wine. 

Sirius has started talking now, and when that happens, it’s usually difficult to stop him. “I self-sabotaged,” he says, repeating James’s words. “I convinced myself that you weren’t... in. You hadn’t introduced me to anyone in your life, but you knew all of my people. And I just wanted to share it all with you, but it felt to me like you wanted the opposite.” 

Remus hauls in a huge breath. 

“And it’s on me. I know that. I didn’t tell you that I was feeling insecure.” 

Remus squeezes his eyes closed. “I wish you had,” he says quietly. 

Sirius doesn’t know what to say to that, so he falls into the old trap of focusing on Remus’s fingers and stays quiet. 

Remus turns to him. “I’m not like you,” he says slowly. “I’m more reserved and- it doesn’t mean I don’t feel-” 

“I know.” Sirius feels bereft. “I know that now.” 

There is an uncomfortable silence, and Sirius is on the verge of telling Remus his joke about the nun with hiccups out of sheer desperation, but luckily, he’s spared. 

“You’re right,” Remus says in a scratchy voice. “About not introducing you to my friends. And my family.” He picks at a cardboard beermat on the table. “There is a story there, though. And you couldn’t know, because obviously I didn’t tell you any of this, but I had a boyfriend, Will. And things were really serious.” 

“How long ago was this?” 

“We broke up a couple of years ago, just after I got really ill. And I... I don’t know, I didn’t think we ever would. We’d been together so long that our friendship groups had fused together and it was... well, it was really shit. It was honestly like a divorce and our friends felt like they had to pick sides.” 

Sirius nods solemnly. 

“There are people I was really close to that I don’t get to see anymore. And that’s awful. It’s still awful now. I guess on some level, I didn’t want the same thing to happen again.” 

“Right,” Sirius says, thinking. “Has Hugo met them?” 

Remus’s forehead creases up. “No, but that’s different.” 

“Why?” Sirius asks. 

Remus shakes his head. He looks annoyed with himself and Sirius, in a moment of rare diplomacy, decides not to push it. 

Remus tops up his glass for him and Sirius is concerned that he looks so pensive. “When we broke up,” he says after a moment. “You mentioned your illness. And you said that I’d have tired of it.” 

Remus tilts his head in concession. 

“I’ve had a lot of time to think over the last few months, and I just wanted you to know that I wouldn’t have. Tired of it. It’s not... something you need to feel embarrassed about. It’s just one bit of you, and it doesn’t detract from how brilliant I think you are.” 

Remus gazes at him over his glass. 

“In fact,” he continues, emboldened by wine. “I think _both_ of us had our own insecurities which we projected onto the relationship and used them to cling onto any signs it wouldn’t work.” He puts his glass down and touches a hand to Remus’s forearm. “I’m sorry about that.” 

Remus stares at his hand and blinks. “Me too,” he says, voice wavering. He seems to realise then that his glass is empty and glances at Sirius. “Do you want another?” 

“Make mine a Coke. I’ve replaced excessive drinking with yoga.” He laughs through his nose at Remus’s expression. “I’m serious, I go to a class and everything!” 

“Please tell me there are leggings.” 

“Pervert.” 

Remus stands up to go to the bar. “Well, you are full of surprises this evening.” 

“Yeah.” Sirius looks at him for a moment too long. “You too.” He drums on the table, full of nervous energy. “Actually, you know what? I will have one more.”

\--

Lily insists on having a dinner party for her birthday, with the select few who have the accolade of being termed her nearest and dearest. It falls just a few days after Sirius’s cycling triumph, and he changes his shirt three times before settling on the dark green one. He throws his hair back into a bun and inspects himself in the mirror. It’ll have to do.

When dinner is served - cassoulet with white beans - Remus takes the seat next to Sirius and a little thrill runs up his spine and he can smell him. Remus takes a bite of the food and he compliments Lily on her efforts, then turns to Sirius and asks how he is in a voice that’s low and just for him. There is grey in his hair now, made obvious by the fluorescent kitchen lights, but he looks younger, somehow. 

“Okay,” Sirius nods. “Yes, I’m alright, thank you. How are you?”

“I’m well,” Remus smiles shyly. “Really well, actually. I didn’t tell you on Saturday but my doctor has me on some experimental new treatment. It’s working. I feel like I’ve been given a service, like a car. New tyres, oil in the engine, that sort of thing.” 

Sirius can feel his mouth twitching into a huge smile. “I’m so glad,” he says genuinely. “You look great.” He stares intently at the twines of his fork. “How’s Hugo doing on his trip?” 

Then it’s Remus’s turn to stare at his cutlery. “He’s okay,” he says quietly. “Thank you for asking.” 

Sirius sticks his nose in his wine glass and takes baby sips. When he looks up, Remus is already looking at him. 

James tells a loud, dramatic story about _another_ explosion in chemistry class that he may have accidentally caused because he had distracted the kids by telling a long, drawn-out joke which distracted them from their timings and ended in a bang. The explosion (and by extension James) had necessitated the evacuation of the entire science block, and he recites the events of the day with an expression that’s a healthy mix of embarrassed and proud. 

Sirius half takes it in. The other half of him buzzes with the adrenaline of having Remus so close for the third time in a week. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” Sirius says in a low voice. And he nearly leaves it there but thinks that might make Remus a bit uncomfortable, so he expands. “I thought about you yesterday, actually. I went to Bradford and there were loads of stray cats on an industrial estate. I remembered what you were saying about neutering and I thought about little Edna.” He pokes at his food. “How is she?” 

“She brought in a vole the other day. That was a new one. Turns out voles are much harder to catch than mice. Somewhat more bitey. Vicious little rascals, actually.” 

Sirius laughs breathlessly. “Is a vole better or worse than a frog?” 

“I’m going to say better.” He takes a sip of wine and his mouth quirks up at the corner. “Paddy looks well. How is he?”

“He’s going through his humpy phase,” Sirius frowns. “He humps anything that moves. And quite a few things that don’t: the sofa cushions have had a tough time of it of late.” 

“I won’t make a comment about you rubbing off on him,” Remus laughs. “Or how he’s the second in the line of Shagger Blacks.” 

“Third, probably,” Sirius laughs. “Regulus is really cutting his teeth at the moment. He’s apparently dating Catherine Zeta Jones’s even more attractive cousin.” 

“I can’t believe there are two of you.” 

Sirius winks. “He doesn’t have my assets.” 

Remus snorts. “You know, I believe that. I’m not sure many people have your assets.” 

It feels flirty. And from Sirius, that’s no surprise. Sirius probably learned to flirt before he could talk. But from Remus, it feels divine and precious, like an opportunity he needs to seize. 

Remus is drinking his wine quickly. There is a delicious reddening of his cheeks that deepens with every sip he takes. “Are you seeing anyone?” he asks after a moment’s quiet. It comes out of nowhere, and is presented as something he’s been working up the courage to ask. 

Sirius meets his eye and it feels important that he answers honestly, without frills. “No,” he says. “Nobody since you.” 

They lock eyes. And the noise around them lessens into a dull hum. 

“Right,” Remus says. “Okay.” 

When it’s time for the guests to leave - and because it’s a dinner party - everyone kisses everyone. It’s funny, because they are a group of friends who would never dream of kissing each other, were they not at a dinner party and playing roles they don’t quite fit. And so, Sirius and Lily exchange the obligatory double kiss, not quite making contact. And then he and James place great big smackers on each other’s cheeks. None of it makes sense, because they all live together, but it’s nice nonetheless. 

Before he knows it, Remus is turned to him. He’s moving forwards and he’s saying something like ‘goodnight, Sirius’, but Sirius couldn’t tune in on the words even if he wanted to. He leans in, and, utterly unthinking, runs two fingers along the velvet-soft skin of Remus’s wrist, right up to his elbow, which he clings to. And while the first kiss is politely suspended in the air, he slows down as he goes for the second, his lips gliding over the stubble of Remus’s cheek. He feels rather than hears Remus’s sharp intake of breath. And when he pulls away, Remus is looking at him through hooded eyes, with a scorching intensity he had feared he might never see again. 

And oh, if he could see that look for the rest of his days, he would. He would follow that look to the ends of this rotten earth.

Remus stays so close, and he lets his head fall forwards, just a little. His lips part and he mumbles, says: “This isn’t fair, Sirius.” He looks him in the eye and elaborates. “I don’t think we should see so much of each other. It’s too- I need some space.” 

Sirius wants to shout, to rage. He wants to say _“How much more space can I give you? You’re already impossibly far away! And all I want is to have you close. All I want is you here.”_

And perhaps, a year or so ago, before they knew each other, he would have done. He would have said his piece, everyone else’s feelings be damned. But the thought of forcing a situation that will cause Remus inevitable pain and discomfort holds such weight, that he wades through the torrid storm of his feelings and he numbly clears his throat. 

“Right,” he says. He loosens his hold on Remus’s arm and when he speaks, it’s a condensed version of the truth that escapes his lips. “It’s the last thing I want. But I’ll give you your space.” 

It feels mature. It feels right. It feels fucking wretched. It’s the first time he’s ever been aware of the feelings of another mattering to him at least as much, if not more than, his own. And when Remus leaves, and the three of them are left standing in the compact hallway of the home they share, it’s all he can do to release a shaky breath. 

“What are you going to do?” Lily asks after a long, ragged silence. 

Sirius glances at her concerned face and he sighs. “Would you think me characteristically immature if I said I was going to wait for him?” 

She shakes her head. “No,” she says, voice hoarse. “I daresay I would find that quite remarkably lovely.” 

He nods. “At least I didn’t do anything properly stupid like licking his stubble, or putting the lobe of his ear in my mouth.”

“That’s something,” she agrees.

“Well then. I’m going to go upstairs and have a little cry. And a wank, probably. A crank, if you will.”

\--

It’s a week later when Sirius spots the perfect gift: a first edition of My Family and Other Animals which jumps out at him in a second hand book store. He knows Remus’s birthday is this week because Lily is joining him for drinks at the wine bar. He doesn’t think it’s too imposing to post the book to him. If he posts it, he’s still giving him space, isn’t he?

He buys the book and heads into a nearby cafe for his caffeine fix when Regulus rings him. He tells him all about the young Zeta-Jones, that he’s uncharacteristically enamoured, that he hopes there will be a ring on her finger by Christmas. 

Hearing him so happy is a source of real joy to his embittered older brother, who sips at his coffee and waits his turn. 

“I’m smitten, too,” he says grimly. “But I had my chance with him and blew it. And now he’s blowing someone else.” 

Regulus ponders this. “Is he happy?” 

“Not sure.” 

“Does he know how you feel? Have you told him?”

“Not in so many words. But I think he knows--”

“Tell him.” Regulus cuts over him. “Just fucking tell him. At least then you’ll know either way.” 

Sirius hauls in a huge breath. “Yeah,” he says eventually. “As usual, Reggie, you’re right and I hate it.” 

“Any time,” he scoffs, and hangs up without saying goodbye. 

\--

He has wrapped the book in tissue paper and secured it with a ribbon, written a card that says ‘Happy birthday, old man! Lots of love, Sirius xx’ 

And he’s ready to make his speech, ready to tell him, in no uncertain terms, that he is the best thing since sliced bread; ready, finally, to tell him how he feels. The fact that it’s taken the best part of a year for him to reach this point is neither here nor there, he tells himself. It’s probably immaterial. 

The walk to Remus’s house feels longer than it did before. There is a sharp nip in the air that takes his breath away, and he really wishes he’d thought to wear gloves as the cold bites ruthlessly at his bare hands. 

He walks past the corner shop where the couple who own it are bickering outside, gesticulating dangerously close to the immaculate stacks of fruit and veg. He dodges them artfully and finds himself at a familiar front door. 

He nearly presses the doorbell. But then his eyes are drawn to the open-curtained living room and he can’t resist the urge to peek in. There is a fire in the grate and Edna is curled up in front of it. And on one end of the sofa, Hugo the toff is sat up straight reading Tolstoy and Remus is stretched out along the length of the sofa, asleep with his head in his lap. 

He stands there and watches for too long. He watches Hugo’s hand carding through Remus’s hair, stares at Hugo’s slippered feet and wonders if he keeps the slippers here or brings them every time he comes, wonders if he’s already moved in.

The present falls out of his hands and lands on the doorstep with a thud. He turns and walks away, breaking into a run halfway down the road. 

It hurts. 

It physically hurts and he feels like it might tear him in two; feels like he might have no choice but to let it.


	11. Chapter 11

The reminder drops through the letterbox like a gift that’s come straight from the Gods:

_We are writing to let you know that it’s time for Paddy’s annual health check and vaccination boosters._

_Please ring us to arrange your consultation at your earliest convenience._

_We look forward to seeing you soon!_

_Summerton Veterinary Practice_

Shit. Here it is; the in he’s been waiting for. 

It’s not that he doesn’t understand Remus’s insistence that they shouldn’t hang out as much now. He really does get it, and he respects Remus enough to try and stay away. But there has never been much alignment between what he knows is sensible, and what he _wants_. And what he _wants_ is Remus, despite every valiant effort he has made to stop this from being the case. 

“Good morning Summerton Vets, Amy speaking, how can I help?” The receptionist reels off her practised greeting so quickly that the words slide into one another like honey. 

“Oh, hi. I’m ringing to book my dog in for his boosters, please.”

“Of course. What’s your name please, sir?” 

“Sirius Black.” 

“With Paddy?” 

“Yes, that’s right.” 

“Not a problem, when is a convenient time for you?” 

“First thing in the morning if possible.” 

“I’ve got nine fifteen on Wednesday.” 

“That’s perfect.” It’s not, but he can almost certainly take a day’s annual leave. Or call in sick from his job, _resign_ if he needs to. “And which vet is that with, please?” He tries to sound cool but he thinks she probably noticed the tangible wobble to his voice. 

“It’s with Dr Lupin.”

“Great. Excellent. Thank you, I’ll see you then.” 

He hangs up and tries to reason with his hammering heart. 

He should probably come up with a plan. Or at least decide how he wants to play it. But all he can think about is those precious seven minutes when they will be in the same room again. Seven minutes to pull off a miracle (and maybe if things go well, a lanky vet, too). 

And it’s not that he consciously books a haircut and trims his pubes so he’ll look good for Remus. He almost certainly would have done those things regardless, he tells himself. Almost certainly would have. 

When Wednesday rolls around, he dons a soft green jumper and his smartest jeans. He spritzes some soft, spicy cologne and remembers to floss before he goes. He loops Paddy gently into his harness and they set off to the vets, walking rather than taking the car in a bid to dispel some nerves. 

The waiting room is empty, but for him and the receptionist. He’s as calm as can reasonably be expected, but when the door to the examination room swings open and Remus is looking at him with those reproachful eyes, his legs do start to shake, just a little. Paddy’s tail slaps wildly against his leg, and Sirius thinks that he must be the only dog in the world to actively like their vet. 

“Come on, then,” Remus laughs softly, and it’s the loveliest thing. He’s the loveliest thing. 

“I thought it was customary to call the pet’s name?” Sirius teases, ambling past him into the tiny room; all stainless steel and wipeable surfaces. 

Remus shuts the door behind them both and sighs, long suffering and world weary. “It is, you’re right. What can I say?” 

“Hello, maybe?” Sirius suggests, leaning against the surface in a way that he hopes shows off his meaty thighs through the fabric of his jeans. 

“Hello,” Remus says, not looking right at him. “Are you well?” 

“Very,” Sirius nods. And he’s relieved to find that he means it. “How are you?” 

“Also well.” Remus picks up a pen that sits on the side, then puts it back down. 

“Good. Great! You look it.” 

“Good. Great,” Remus repeats with an awkward laugh. “Right, are you going to help me get him on the exam table then?” Together, they manage the task, which is no small feat given that Paddy is at least three times the size he was when they last had to get him up there. Paddy lets his feet splay out and lies fat on the table, not ceasing the tail wagging for one moment. 

Remus puts on the stethoscope that clings around his neck, those nimble fingers placing its flat disc on Paddy’s chest to listen to his heart. His eyes wrinkle in concentration and all Sirius can hear is his pulse in his ears. 

“Sounds good,” Remus nods. He looks in Paddy’s eyes, his ears, his mouth, checks his coat and takes his temperature. 

Sirius hates this part; the waiting; the not knowing if everything’s okay; the profound quiet of the man before him whose face, as ever, is a closed book. 

Remus hauls a huge breath in and lets it out slowly, straightening up and scratching Paddy behind the ears. “Well,” he says, “Hard to believe this is the same little scraggly thing you brought in a year ago, isn’t it?” 

Sirius releases the breath he’s been holding and nods. “How’s he looking?” 

“Like the picture of health,” Remus smiles, Sirius’s favourite smile; the one that brings out the dimples deep in his cheeks, which are tinged pink as he makes eye contact for a jolt too long. “You’ve worked miracles with him.” 

The praise should make Sirius feel good, but it _hurts_ instead and he can’t place why that is. “ _You_ worked miracles,” he corrects. 

“I did my job,” Remus shrugs. 

“No,” Sirius’s voice breaks at the expiration of the word. “No, it’s more. It’s so much more.” Now Sirius is the one maintaining eye contact for too long; so long that it’s embarrassing. But then Remus is looking right back, and it feels like _something_. Or perhaps Sirius has reached the point of desperation where he will clutch blindly at any straw he can.

He thinks back to the first time they met, in this very room with the same postnominals carved on the door, back when Remus barely made eye contact at all but was just as compelling. Had he known then? Had he known how completely he would fall and from so great a height? 

Not a chance.

He turns away, stooping to fuss Paddy and ground his thoughts in something much more canine. 

Remus stands for a moment, looking into the space where Sirius’s face had been, then clears his throat and turns to rummage in a drawer for a syringe and a vial of something clear, vivid with the warning labels that are etched all over it. 

“You know the drill,” he says softly, drawing the plunger of the syringe upwards so that the clear plastic fills to the correct line. 

“Ah, this is just like the first time,” Sirius laughs. “Except I have much more confidence that he will leave the surgery in one piece.” 

“You and me both,” Remus nods, stroking Paddy’s head, eyes dancing about the room as if they can’t decide where to settle. 

“He’s a bloody great dog,” Sirius says, voice not quite working as it should. “Shame his owner is such a complete wazzock.” 

Remus breathes calmly, and quietly, but the space between them is so minute that Sirius can hear every inhale and exhale. “He’s - ah - he’s not so bad,” he says eventually. 

Sirius bites painfully on his bottom lip and clasps Paddy gently by his front feet to hold him in place. He is visibly shaking and his pulse skyrockets as Remus’s hand brushes against his. “Sorry,” he grunts, while Sirius schools his own hands into staying still, into resisting the urge to reach out and grab. Remus makes shushing noises as he pushes the needle in. 

And then they are done. Remus fusses around for a minute or two, talking about worming tablets, or something, and Sirius wants him to carry on all day, wants, pathetically, characteristically, to cry because he knows he won’t carry on all day. 

“A clean bill of health,” Remus declares, handing over the paperwork and making cautious steps towards the door. 

“Thank you,” Sirius nods. “Thanks, Remus.” He wraps his arms around Paddy and moves him down to the floor where he resumes his tail wagging in earnest. Sirius takes two big, decisive strides towards the door. He grasps the handle and begins to turn it but stops before it clicks open. 

“Remus,” he says, voice shaking. “I— er. Oh God, right. I’ve just got to say it. I’m in love with you.” He lets out a helpless laugh and his eyes feel desperately soggy. He isn’t looking at him, couldn’t possibly, can almost physically feel the room clouding with tension. “I’m so in love with you. And I know you’re doing really well. And I know you’ve moved on, but I just need you to know that... I haven’t. I’m still there, in that place. And I’m just-- well, I’m no good without you, really.” 

He rubs angrily at his eyes and tugs gently on Paddy’s lead, wanting, finally, to put an end to this meeting so he can curl up in a ball and die. He opens the door and the noise of the waiting room floods in.

“So,” he says firmly, drawing himself up and stepping half out of the room. He looks down at his feet then up to the huge eyes of the unknowable man before him. Remus’s lips are parted like he’s going to say something, but Sirius doesn’t think he can stand to hear it. “That’s what I had to say. I think I just needed you to know.” He shrugs. “Do with it what you will, I suppose.” 

In his haste to leave, he forgets to shut the door, and he makes for the exit, pushing the external door so hard that he thinks the bell might fall off altogether. 

“Sir,” a panicked voice says, stopping him in his tracks. “Sir, you haven’t paid.” 

Shit. 

He makes his way back to the reception desk and pulls his wallet out of his trousers with all the haste he can muster. Too much haste, it turns out, because the coin compartment pops open and all the shrapnel he has been meaning to put in Lily’s swear jar for the last month tumbles onto the floor, rolling under chairs, scattered all over the room. He swears under his breath and gets down on his hands and knees to scoop up the coins, hot tears spilling freely down his cheeks now. A couple of kindly bystanders get up to help him. He really wishes they wouldn’t. 

He chances a glance upwards, and sure enough, he’s there: stood in the doorway, his face ashen grey, long arms hanging awkwardly and he’s looking right at him with an unreadable expression. His lips are gently parted. “Oh God,” he gasps. “Please stop looking at me.” He meets his eye. “Please, Remus.” And he doesn’t even know what he’s begging for now; he just needs to get home. 

Remus seems to shake himself out of a trance. He nods, once, eyes flickering away. Then he looks around the waiting room and calls “Albert?” A round woman with a huge German shepherd leaps towards him and they disappear behind the door. 

Sirius has gathered most of the coins now but his dignity is still scattered about the room. He pulls out his credit card and wipes at his eyes with the sleeve of his jumper, even though it’s cashmere and he’s not supposed to get it wet. 

The receptionist, seemingly oblivious to his turmoil, takes his card and processes the pavement. He slopes home, dragged the whole way by the dog, whose breakfast time stops for no man. 

\--

“Sirius,” Lily knocks on his door for the third time today. “Are you going to come out for ice cream, love?”

“What kind?” he mumbles bravely from under the duvet, where he has lain, spread-eagled for the last 36 hours, emerging only for toilet breaks and the occasional cigarette. He’s already missed dinner, but Lily knows him better than anyone, and if there’s a chance of his being coaxed out successfully, it’ll be Lily that manages it. 

“Cookies and cream. Or we’ve got some of those mini Magnums with the white chocolate that you love.” 

He burrows further into the cocoon. His stomach rumbles. He _does_ love those mini Magnums with the white chocolate. So it’s a toss up, really between the merits of a mini Magnum with the white chocolate, and his overwhelming urge to slowly perish in the oppressive embrace of his bed. 

Everything hurts. His head hurts. His toes hurt. His tiny little broken heart hurts, and it’s a wretched affair all round. 

“Okay,” he says quietly. “I’ll come out for ice cream.” 

Lily and James eye him carefully as he nibbles at the chocolate on his Magnum, perched on the edge of the sofa in case he changes his mind and needs a quick escape route. 

“I mean, look,” James says after Sirius has polished off the dessert. “At least you fucking _said_ it.” 

Sirius gazes at him through eyes that feel clouded and tired. He must look a state. There is an unpleasant smell in the lounge and he suspects it might be him. 

It’s true, though, what James is saying. At least he’s said it. Hadn’t planned to, could have improved on the execution, but it’s done and he’s glad, even though he feels like he’s now doomed to live his life accompanied by the stifling feeling that he’s wading through warm, sticky treacle. 

He keeps replaying the scenes in his head: Remus’s warm but guarded smile when he called them into the examination room; the cool brush of his fingers; his lips, parted in surprise on hearing Sirius’s confession; the detachment in his eyes while he watched on as he rushed to pick up his coins and scarper. 

“Better to have said it,” he agrees in a croak. “I don’t think I even knew it was true until the words were out of my mouth.” 

“It was pretty obvious to anyone with eyes,” Lily points out, not unkindly. “Months in the making, I’d say.”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” they chime in unison. 

“Yeah,” he nods glumly, wrapping a blanket around himself, staring at nothing and blinking too much. 

\--

The next morning is Friday, and Sirius finally showers. He runs the water so it’s almost unbearably hot and steamy, just how he likes it, and cracks open the fancy shower gel he’s unconsciously been saving for best. He blasts the bathroom speaker with some melodramatic power ballads, and the whole experience is a catharsis, of sorts. 

He quickly towels his hair and wraps himself in his cosy dressing gown. He feels-- okay, like he could pass for a real human being. And that’s definitely an immense improvement. 

He bundles himself back into his room and shortly afterwards registers the vague cacophony of the doorbell ringing and Paddy barking, even more loudly than usual. 

He hears Lily answer the door, and his insides lurch about when he swears he could almost hear “Remus! I think you’d better come in.” 

He has no idea what to do. He’s not wearing any clothes: can he go and double check? He throws caution to the wind, makes sure his robe is securely tied and opens his door. 

“Is he here?” The voice is muffled but undoubtedly him. 

Lily’s voice, clearer, travels up the stairs. “Yes he’s upstairs. I’ll go and tell him you’re here.”

Shit. _Shit shit shit._

He barrels out of his room, across the landing to the top of the stairs. He meets Lily there and they are both wild-eyed. They exchange a look which can only mean ‘I have no idea what on Earth is going on but it’s definitely going on right now’ and Lily makes her way back down the stairs, Sirius following, glad that she’s there to shield him, like a child who craves his mother’s protection. 

Sirius knows he’s covered up, but he feels mighty bare, stood before Remus, staring up into his eyes which are stormy and wild. He suspects that he might get punched; suspects that he might deserve it. 

“James!” Lily yells. “Get your anorak on; we’re going out!” 

A minute passes when nobody speaks. Then, James emerges from the lounge, where he was almost certainly having a sofa nap, glasses skewed on his face and the imprint of the corduroy cushion etched into his face. 

“Yes, my darling.” He grabs his coat from a peg and rubs his bleary eyes. He salutes Sirius, nods at Remus, takes Lily by the hand and they disappear in a whirlwind.

They stand, staring at each other. It’s all stormy glances and heaving chests and Remus’s face still holds this terrifying intensity that Sirius can’t reconcile with the gentle man he knows. 

“Remus, I—“

“Did you mean it?” Remus’s voice cuts through the air, which is thick, stifling. 

Sirius struggles to whip the words from the thick fog whence they come. “What?” He says, after too long trying to figure out their meaning. 

Remus steps into his space, eyes not leaving his. “I’m not fucking around here, Sirius.” His voice is low and gruff. “Did you mean it?” 

Sirius lets his eyes flit all over Remus’s face, trying to tell himself that this is real. “Yeah, yes. I meant it.” 

Remus makes a noise that sounds like pure relief, grabs him by the neck and brings their mouths together in a kiss that’s hard and desperate and... sure.

Sirius doesn’t know what to do. He’s acutely aware that he’s in his dressing gown and his hair is wet (and thank fuck he had a shower because at least he doesn’t stink) and, perhaps most strikingly, he’s not wearing any pants. 

Remus sucks his bottom lip into his mouth. His fingernails trail over the nape of Sirius’s neck in a way that will leave marks, and Sirius is putting everything into the kiss; all of the yearning, the loneliness, the outright lust that has built up over months. 

He breaks away. “Remus,” he says. He presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth; slow and soft, struggling to believe that he’s allowed to do so. “What about Hugo?”

Remus breathes in through his nose. His lips are bitten and sore, and he looks debauched and turned on and bloody fucking gorgeous. He noses at Sirius’s neck, breathing him in, and sighs so that Sirius can feel the heat of his breath at his collar bone. “We broke up.” His fingers pull at the knotted tangle of Sirius’s dressing gown tie. Sirius stops him, cautious hands clutching at Remus’s, holding them still. 

“When?” he asks in a small voice. 

Remus rubs a thumb over Sirius’s palm. His mouth tugs up at the side. “Yesterday.” 

Remus’s fingers twist into Sirius’s wet hair. He kisses him again, needy and slick. 

Sirius pulls away just as Remus slots their hips together impatiently. “Why?” 

“Sirius,” Remus grunts. “I’m giving you my best moves, here.” He looks down at Sirius’s face, which is scrunched with thought and he bursts out laughing. “Are you kidding me? Why do you think?”

“Are you-- are you sure?” 

“Stop talking, please.” 

“Remus, I’m really fucking sorry. For everything, I mean--” 

Remus removes his mouth from where it’s biting and licking at Sirius’s neck and raises an eyebrow, scolding and fond. “Sirius,” he whispers, sultry and low. “I swear, if you don’t have your hand in my pants in the next eight seconds, I’m going to go home and make you wait till tomorrow.” 

Sirius barks out a laugh, delighted. “You wouldn’t.” 

“I most certainly would. Now please, for the love of all that is good and holy, will you please just fucking kiss m--” 

Sirius cuts him off, covering his mouth with his own, biting at his lower lip, and then Remus is gasping into his mouth, and it’s fucking _astonishing_. This time, Remus does get the knot undone, and his dressing gown falls open. Remus breaks away to run his eyes all over Sirius’s chest, his stomach, his painfully hard dick. “Bedroom,” he growls and Sirius giggles, giddy with the absolute brilliance of all of it. He reaches out a hand and leads Remus up the stairs, wondering vaguely exactly how many dirty pairs of pants there are on the floor. 

He steps through the doorway and Remus is stood right behind him, hot and brooding. His hands are at the collar of his dressing gown, and he slides it off his shoulders so it pools on the floor in the gap between them. Remus strokes shaky fingers over the skin of his neck, his shoulders, his back. His fingers are cool on his burning skin, and goosebumps erupt all over him as Remus presses wet, hot kisses to his jutting shoulder blades. 

“God,” Sirius whispers. “God, this is too much.” 

Remus gently steers him inside, turns him around and brings him into a soft, less urgent kiss, hands cupping his face like he’s something precious. He’s still fully clothed, and it’s almost comical just how naked Sirius is in contrast. Remus guides him backwards to sit on the bed, reaches behind his own neck and pulls off the jumper and t-shirt he’s wearing in one swift motion. He’s filled out since the last time they were naked together; his angles softened like he’s had some decent meals, and Sirius is pleased at the fact. And then Remus is on his knees, blowing him ardently, and Sirius forgets to think anything at all, sinking into the sensation of Remus’s wet mouth around his dick, listening intently to the tawdry little noises he is making when he takes him to the back of his throat. 

In no time at all, Sirius comes with a surprised ‘ah!’, and Remus licks him carefully, bringing him down with a gentleness that makes Sirius’s eyes prick with tears. He pulls Remus up to him, bringing his face down to nuzzle at his neck, presses kisses into the softness of his tawny hair, which smells of clean shampoo. Remus nibbles at his collar bone and moans softly when Sirius runs his hands over the twitching muscles of his abdomen. 

Sirius flips Remus playfully onto his back and wrestles with his trousers, Remus laughing the whole while, especially when his cock springs free and Sirius makes a noise that is practically pornographic. Sirius sucks him with gusto, relishing the familiar taste and the way Remus is saying things like ‘fuck’, and ‘yes’, but managing to make them sound like rich symphonies. He is shaking underneath him and he’s so hard that Sirius knows he’s about to come, aches with the knowledge. He slides a finger underneath him and gently inside him, just enough to make Remus gasp, “just there, love,” and then he’s coming with a yelp, and Sirius thinks how utterly precious he is, wonders how he possibly could have done without.

“God,” Remus pants once Sirius has pulled off. “Well that didn’t take long.” He’s smiling, playful, gorgeous. Sirius flops down beside him and proffers a high five, which Remus returns, snorting. 

Sirius grins and squeezes his eyes shut against the realisation that he’s the luckiest man alive; must be. 

He doesn’t mean to nap, but it’s an hour later when Lily and James clatter through the front door and startle them both into consciousness. “Oh shit, that wasn’t a dream!” Sirius beams. “Oh shit, you’re really real.” 

Remus plays lazily with the tendrils of his hair and kisses his neck. “Oh shit, _you’re_ really real,” he laughs nonsensically. “Do you think we have to go out and face them?” 

“Not yet,” Sirius whispers, hand clutched to Remus’s hip. “Just stay with me a minute.” 

“Okay,” Remus soothes. “I’ll stay as long as you want me.” He presses a kiss to his hair and strokes a couple of tendrils away from his face, looking down at him with the utmost tenderness. Sirius knows in his heart that there is nothing in this world as exquisite. 

After another half hour or so, there are scratches at the door, and a whimper from a dog who feels like he’s being left out. This time, they do get dressed, and Sirius takes Remus and Paddy out for a pub lunch at a place that does chips the size of doorstops, grinning and grinning and grinning as he watches Remus fearlessly tackle the biggest lasagne he has ever seen. He wipes his chin for him with a serviette when at last he places his knife and fork together on his plate. 

“That was delicious,” Remus declares. 

“You’re so fucking _good_ ,” Sirius replies, trying and failing to articulate how he’s been feeling all morning.

“Oh hush,” Remus chides, reaching for the dessert menu. He will, Sirius knows, be right in the midst of an internal debate on whether there is enough room in his stomach for chocolate ice cream. Without looking up, he says “I’d like you to meet my friends. They’re coming over on Sunday, I think. The weather’s meant to be nice so I was thinking of doing a little barbecue. What do you reckon?” 

“I-- yes, of course,” Sirius gushes. “What have you told them about us?” 

“That you crapped all over my heart,” Remus says, and it sounds like a joke but his jaw is firm. “So you might need to do some damage control.” 

Sirius ponders this for a moment. “I’ll wear the green jumper,” he decides, and he kisses Remus, right in the middle of the pub. 

They walk home, but it takes an eternity because Remus keeps stopping and pressing him up against things to kiss him thoroughly. And there are exactly zero complaints on Sirius’s lips, because the whole thing is heady and dream-like, and it’s only when Remus is kissing him hurriedly against a lamppost and he lifts the corner of his shirt up to run a thumb torturously slowly from his navel to his hip bone that Sirius starts to feel like they absolutely must get home. It’s at that point that he grabs Remus’s hand and starts walking with purpose, dragging him along with him and startling a lovely laugh from the leggy man. 

It’s only Friday. Which means the weekend is only just beginning, and as Sirius - back in his bedroom - takes Remus’s nipple between his teeth and bites gently, just hard enough to make Remus jerk his head backwards, he knows that this is the only way to spend it. 

Remus unbuttons Sirius’s shirt deftly, slipping it to the floor, and there’s true hunger in his eyes when they rake over his naked torso. “God. All my sordid memories didn’t do you justice,” Remus says in a low voice. He kisses the sheen of Sirius’s skin, dusting his lips down his torso right down to his belt and licking the sensitive skin there. He glances up, rubbing a thumb over his hip bone. “Are you okay?” 

Sirius bites his lip and nods. “Yes,” he says hoarsely. “Yes, please don’t stop.” 

Remus smiles softly and unbuckles his belt, sliding his trousers out from under him, followed swiftly by his pants. The look in his eyes as he takes him into his mouth is other-worldly, and it rips through Sirius, taking every sentient thought with it. He shakes his head and taps Remus on the shoulder, urging him to stop. “I need you inside me,” he pants, and judging by the swell of Remus’s pupils, he needs it too. 

That night, for the first time ever, Remus stays the night in Sirius’s bed. He has brought his medication with him, arranged for the neighbour to come in and feed the cat, and Paddy is beside himself with glee at having his two favourite people under one roof. 

Sirius points out that it was very presumptuous of him to assume he was staying the night. 

“Well, you did show up to my place of work and tell me you were in love with me. So I thought there was a fair chance you wouldn’t turf me out.”

Sirius nods, too happy to say anything clever; thinks he might burst with happiness. He buries his head in the soft, downy hair of Remus’s chest and breathes him in, pressing the odd kiss to his hot, bare skin while Remus’s lovely hand (the right one - marginally the more objectively lovely of the two) strokes along the strands of his hair. 

He loves Remus. He _loves_ him. And it doesn’t matter that he hasn’t said it back yet, because Sirius can feel it. It’s engulfing him, and he’s finally ready to start reaching out; finally ready to catch it. 

\--

Sirius wakes up to the sensation of soft fingertips stroking the thin skin of his wrist. It takes him a while to realise where he is, who it is lying just centimetres away. 

“Oh!” 

“Morning!” Remus’s mouth creases at the corners and his voice is scratchy. He’s totally naked and every bit of Sirius loves every bit of him. 

“I’m just having a little moment here. You’re in my bed,” Sirius grins. “I wasn’t sure you’d ever be in my bed again.” 

Remus lets out a little laugh. “I was fairly sure it would happen sooner or later.” He leans over and kisses him; lingering and morning-soft. “I’m just glad it was sooner.” 

“Fuck, I missed you. And I know we need to do all the talking: about everything that’s been, and everything that will be. Honestly, I’m really ready for that. I mean, God, I’ve been _waiting_ for that. But first, I just want to kiss you all day. Is that okay?” 

“Oh, I suppose so,” Remus rolls his eyes playfully. “You act like kissing you all day is a chore. Previous experience demonstrates that it’s really rather pleasant.” To demonstrate his point, he leans over and rests his forehead to Sirius’s, peppering kisses across his mouth and jaw in a way that makes Sirius think some of his filthiest thoughts. Remus pulls away. “Actually, we can’t spend all day kissing. I have some plans.” 

“Oh?”

“Yes. But that’s for later. We’ve got some time.” 

He clutches a hand softly to Sirius’s head and pulls him in, the kisses slow and gentle. Sirius makes an embarrassing noise in the back of his throat as Remus slides his tongue past his lips. 

And then Sirius is on his back and Remus crowded over him. Sirius knows that his expression is one of hopeless adoration, but he forgets to mind as Remus’s hand travels up his thigh to wrap firmly around his dick. 

Even after they’ve both come, there are still kisses: kisses pressed to shoulder blades, to Adam’s apples, kisses with tongue and little nibbles on lips. 

Around midday, they emerge. And James’s shit-eating grin is enough to make Sirius want to retreat straight back to bed. 

“Good afternoon! So nice of you to grace us with your presence.” 

“Fuck off and make us some toast.” Sirius pats the seat beside him and gazes dreamily at Remus who is wearing his Maximo Park t-shirt and borrowed pyjama bottoms that are far too short and make him look ridiculous.

Sirius loves him.

\--

Later, there is chocolate pudding rustled together by Remus, and _the talk_ happens organically in the end, as Sirius finishes up telling him all about Gladys and her gout. 

“Of course, I told her that if she cut out the cider, the gout might ease up a little, but I think she’ll be parted from it over her dead body. Which, ironically, is pretty soon. Because of all the cider.”

“Meh,” Remus shrugs. “If I were 94, I’d do absolutely everything. Acid, heroin, the lot. What have you got to lose? A bit of cider is pretty vanilla if you think about it.” 

“Completely agree. But I think if I encouraged an elderly woman to do acid, people might talk.” 

Remus’s mouth tilts up at the corner. “I’m glad you found her.” 

“And me,” Sirius grins. “She’s an absolute legend.” 

“You did so much when we were apart. The counselling, volunteering--”

“Made up with Regulus,” Sirius nods. “I would say most of it’s a work in progress; this whole self acceptance thing, but I’ve come quite a long way.” 

Remus fixes him with a look of unmistakable pride, and it makes Sirius’s chest puff out, just a little. 

He sighs, though. Knowing what he needs to say next. “But something that I have learned, Remus, is that I am what I am, really. I know you wanted me to change--”

“Sorry?” Remus interrupts. He’s ashen-faced and it’s the only time Sirius has felt like he’s genuinely been cross with him. 

“When we broke up, it was because we were too different, you said. I was too young, too much of a gallivanting dandy. And I get that, I do.” 

“Sirius--” 

“But the thing is, people don’t change really, do they? What I can tell you is that I honestly don’t like going clubbing anymore. I did it once when we were apart and I didn’t know any of the songs and there was this bloke called Steve rubbing up on me, and frankly it was slightly revolting. I had to wash my hair three times to get rid of the stank and I was in bed by midnight.”

“Sirius,” Remus interjects, softening. 

“I can’t change my age, I suppose. I turned a year older, but so did you.”

“Will you let me say something?” 

Sirius gazes up into amused, kind eyes. “Yes, sorry. You go.”

“I never wanted you to change. If I made you feel that way, it’s on me. That’s my fault. I want _you_ , not some sterile, diluted version.”

“Oh.” 

“What I did want was for you to be a bit more comfortable with yourself. And to work out what it is that you want.”

“Oh. Right, then. I think I’ve sort of done that.”

“Yes, I believe you sort of have,” Remus nudges him with his elbow. 

“There’s something I’m dying to ask you. But I think this might be the sort of thing that makes you roll your eyes and call me ridiculous.” 

“Right. Well, go ahead, I suppose?”

“Why did you choose me over Hugo?” 

Remus doesn’t roll his eyes. He doesn’t call him ridiculous. He looks at him plainly. “Because he wasn’t you,” he says, as if it’s obvious. 

“Oh good, because I thought you were going to be vague.” 

Remus sighs. “I just didn’t feel for him what I feel for you.” 

“Which is...” Sirius tilts his head to the side like a puppy and Remus lets out a breath of laughter. 

“Strongly.” 

Sirius beams. Because from stoic, taciturn Remus, ‘strongly’ feels pretty excellent.

From stoic, taciturn Remus, ‘strongly’ feels an awful lot like love.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one is a bit late! 
> 
> I'm thinking there are probably going to be two more chapters after this one. Three if I get carried away. 
> 
> Thank you for all your lovely feedback so far, and I hope you enjoy!

Two days after Remus showed up on the doorstep, Sirius steps back into Remus’s house for the first time and breathes in the clean, woody smell. Remus is already inside, and he’s doing domestic things like hanging his coat up and putting his keys in the bowl by the door while Sirius stands and watches. He turns, then, and meets Sirius’s eye. 

“Coming in?” he asks, mouth tilting into a tiny smile. 

Sirius laughs breathlessly and walks towards Remus. “I didn’t think I’d be here again.”

Remus glances down at his shoes, then hits Sirius with a look that takes his breath away. “Again, I always thought you’d probably be back.” He steps forwards and kisses him; a soft, chaste thing. 

Edna saunters down the hall and rubs herself around their ankles. 

“Well, hello little miss! Long time no rub.” 

“That’s Ms to you.” Remus waggles his eyebrows. And it shouldn’t be, but it’s definitely really very sexy. “Listen, I really need a shower. Sit down, make yourself comfortable. There’s bread in the bread bin and croissants in the freezer if you want to get fancy.” 

Sirius nods and presses a kiss to the crease of his cheek. “I’ll be fine.” 

Except, three minutes after Remus has disappeared upstairs, Sirius starts to think about what he might be doing up there, all alone in that great big shower. 

He slinks upstairs and finds himself getting hard just watching the steam of the shower hitting the sliding glass doors. He strips his clothes off and slides the door open tentatively. Remus grabs him by the wrist and yanks him inside, kissing him hotly. He sucks kisses down his neck and Sirius wouldn’t wish to be anywhere else in the world.

“Touch yourself,” Remus breathes into his neck. And as Sirius’s hand scrambles to his dick, Remus stands back and watches, pupils blown, dick fattening up between them. “Good boy,” he says, rubbing a calloused thumb over his bottom lip, and for some reason, it’s the hottest thing Sirius has ever heard.

It gets hotter, though, when Remus gets him to turn around, when he’s sliding long fingers inside him, when he’s reaching around and pulling him off with long, deft strokes. Being wrapped up in Remus’s arms while he gets him off is sublime, and even though he’s been shagged to within an inch of his life in the last 48 hours, he still feels like he can and will take everything Remus has to give him. 

Remus crooks a finger inside him and he comes all over the bathroom tiles. He turns and flops his head forward to rest on Remus’s chest for a moment under the hot spray of the shower. A hand combs through his hair. 

“Okay?”

Sirius looks up at him and nods mutely. “Very much so.” He kisses him, trying to inject into the kiss everything he’s trying to say. He wants to tell him he loves him again. But it hasn’t been said in return yet, and he doesn’t want to heap pressure on Remus when he might just need a bit more time. So instead, he sinks to his knees, and he shows him with his lips and tongue exactly what he means to him; exactly how fucking devout he is. 

Afterwards, they have toast and raspberry jam and Sirius sits in the kitchen eating it in a borrowed dressing gown that doesn’t feel borrowed at all. 

Remus’s hair is wet and it curls around his ears as he munches. Sirius watches him for too long, then smiles into his toast and takes a restorative sip of coffee. 

“I need to ring Gladys in a bit,” he says after a while. She’s learnt to text - God help us all - and she’s berating me for going AWOL. She’s asked in no uncertain terms whether it’s because I’ve spent the weekend in a pit of debauchery.” 

“She’s very perceptive.” 

“Yes. Except I wouldn’t really describe what we’ve been doing as a _pit_ of debauchery, so much as a brilliant, all-consuming watering hole of sexy sex sex.” 

Remus, in spite of himself, snorts a laugh. “I like you being in my all-consuming watering hole of sexy sex sex.” 

“I am not exaggerating when I tell you that being indoctrinated into your all-consuming watering hole of sexy sex sex is the highlight of my adult years.” 

“Not of your life?” 

“Well, no. Because, before I was an adult, I met James. And that has to come top, I’m afraid.” 

“Ah. Of course. Well, who am I to get in the way of true love?”

“Yes, quite. I’m glad you understand.”

He takes himself into the lounge and she answers after two rings. 

“Hello stranger.” 

“Good morning, Gladys!” 

“You had sex.” 

He nearly spits out his coffee. “How on earth could you tell?” 

“It’s in the voice, dear. You sound much less melancholy. And I’d hazard that it has something to do with some late night rumpy pumpy.” 

Sirius sniggers. “The rumpiest pumpiest.” 

“Well, it’s about time, Sirius Black. Who is the lucky guest in your bed?”

“Well it’s Remus, actually. I-- we-- we reconciled.” 

“Goodness. Call me a romantic old fool, but I’m really rather glad about that. Did you declare your undying love?” 

“Somewhat, yes. And then I stormed out without paying and it was a whole shitshow.” 

“Language, Sirius.” 

“Sorry,” he mumbles, suitably chastised. “But then he turned up at my house, and kissed me so hard I thought it genuinely might make my socks fall off. And the rest, as they say, is history.”

“So you are together now, yes?” 

“Yes.” 

“And where are you right now?” 

“In his lounge, watching two squirrels going at it through the double doors.” 

She laughs to herself. “Excellent. Why waste time, eh?”

“Why indeed,” he says. A thought hits him, then. “Gladys, would you-- would you like to meet him?”

He can almost hear her brain ticking as she mulls it over. “Only if you’re there, or things might feel a bit strange,” she says eventually.

\--

Dorcas Meadowes is cerebral and supremely appealing and Sirius can see why Remus doesn’t want to relinquish custody of her in the event of another messy breakup; she’s absolutely brilliant. Not only is she the bearer of killer beauty, she is also quietly witty and just the right side of strange. 

She’s telling Sirius about her Trinidadian father who has recently been diagnosed with type-2 diabetes and whose non-adherence to the prescribed lifestyle changes is a constant source of frustration. “He’s still full of life, though,” she explains. “No extinguishing that for a while, even if he carries on insisting that maple syrup counts as one of his five-a-day. He is the only non-white person in the village, and he’s honestly the life and soul. They had a supposedly small gathering of friends the other day, and Mum said he kept collecting people out and about, in the butcher’s, the corner shop, the library, insisting that they come. In the end, the police came because it got so raucous. He’s seventy-two!” 

He laughs warmly and clinks her glass with his own. “I guess we could all take a leaf from his book.” 

“We could,” she agrees. “But life expectancy would take a considerable hit.” 

They look over at Remus who is poking at the barbecue meat and wearing an apron that says “kiss the chef.” Smoke goes up his nose and sends him into a sneezing fit that makes him drop his meat slice on the grass. 

“He likes you a lot,” she says after a second’s pause. “Did you know we’ve been friends for twenty-five years? He’s like my brother.” She inhales sharply. “He’s precious cargo, you know?” 

Sirius nods and hears the words that go unspoken: don’t you dare fuck with my boy.

“Has he told you about Will?” she asks, running a finger along the rim of her glass. 

“Yes. Not much, though. He said they were serious. Said he didn’t think they would ever break up.” 

She bites on her bottom lip. “Yes.” She takes a big sip and locks eyes with him. “Look, Remus was always my friend first and foremost so maybe I’m biased, but that guy was a real dickweed. We didn’t see the signs at the time but his actions afterwards hardly did much to paint him in glory.” She looks back over towards Remus. “He wasn’t always so reticent, you know. With Will, he was so quick to love. And when someone like Remus loves you, that’s really fucking something, you know?” 

“Yeah.” He doesn’t need telling twice. 

“He didn’t see the breakup coming. And he was so fucking ill, I thought he might just die. Honestly, I wasn’t sure he was going to make Christmas. It was absolutely terrifying. All my waking hours were consumed with worry for him.” She hauls in a huge breath then shrugs. “But not so Will, the callous fucker. To him, the illness didn’t fit in with his life plan. It was an inconvenience. And he sure as fuck made that clear to Remus when he bailed just at the time when he needed him most.” 

Sirius digests what he’s hearing for a moment. “He downplays it quite a bit.” 

“Yes, he’s good at that. But it took him a long time to recover. Actually, I think on some level, he’s probably still recovering.” 

Sirius breathes in. “I think you know that Remus and I were together for a while last year, and then we broke up. When that happened, it was because I managed to convince myself that he didn’t want me.” He watches Remus artfully flipping burgers. “But I didn’t understand then. I didn’t really get him, and now, I think I’m beginning to. He makes more sense with every passing day.” 

“You had better take good care of him.”

“I will,” he says without pause. He turns to her. “I think he’s the absolute tits.”

“Good. He needs that.” 

Sirius nods, in total agreement. “I really thought I was walking into the lion’s den coming here today, meeting you all. But I didn’t really have anything to worry about, did I?”

Dorcas surveys him and laughs. “Anyone who can make Remus smile like he does when you’re around is alright in my books.” 

Sirius’s mouth splits into a grin. “Does it bother you that I’m younger, though?”

“No. Does it bother you?”

“No.” 

“Well, then. There’s no problem.” 

“No,” Sirius agrees. 

“And about the breakup. We’re all grownups here. Nothing’s so black and white with these things that you can assign blame one way or the other, is it?” 

“Yeah. I think you’re right there.”

“You should have heard the shit we gave him when we found out he had a toy boy,” she nudges him playfully. “We didn’t think it was going to be like a big relationship, or we might have cut him some slack.” 

“Do you think he thinks it’s a big relationship?” 

“Big time.” 

They watch him again, leaning against the apple tree and talking to his friend Jenny, taking the occasional sip of beer.

“Good,” Sirius nods, cheeks flushing just slightly. “That’s very good to hear.” 

“Of course,” she says loudly so that Remus can hear. “He mentioned that you were young. But he failed to let us know that you were like his very own _Hozier_. I mean, sheesh! If you were the frontman of a band, those singles would fly off the shelves.” 

“Hozier is Irish,” Remus corrects haughtily. “And his face isn’t quite as nice as this one’s.” 

Sirius grins. “I was in a band once, actually. We did ska-punk songs and we were called the Scrunch Buckets.”

“Wow,” Dorcas breathes. 

“Yes, we were quite terrible,” Sirius admits. “And alas, the singles did not fly off the shelves. I looked pretty good with a guitar in hand, though.” 

“You play guitar?” Remus asks, quietly astonished, and judging by the size of his pupils, a little bit turned on. 

“And piano,” Sirius winks. “Keep it in your pants, Lupin.” 

Later, when everyone has gone and it’s just the two of them clearing up, Remus walks over to him and kisses him sweetly. “They like you,” he says through a wonky smile. “And I like you, too. You’re a very likeable sort, you know.” 

“Oh really?” 

Remus brushes a strand of hair away from Sirius’s eyes with two fingers. “Yes.”

“What is it that you like?” Sirius asks, wiggling his eyebrows provocatively. 

“How long do you have?”

\--

“Will you tell me about Will?”

They are in Remus’s lounge, one evening the next week. Both of them have had difficult days at work, and it was a no-brainer to spend the evening together, to wallow together, to seek out all the comfort that entails. 

Remus is sat up on the sofa, and Sirius on the floor, settled happily in front of him. He’s been trying to read a book about Saladin, but it’s a hefty tome; he’s three chapters in and the guy hasn’t even been born yet. It’s a little dry to say the least. Perhaps he should have started smaller. And he’s been dying to ask Remus ever since his chat with Dorcas. 

Remus is quiet, though, and Sirius thinks he might have overstepped. He’s about to open his mouth to say so, when at last Remus speaks. “We were together for seven years,” he says. “Lived together, worked together, travelled together, built this big, brilliant life. Together.” 

“He was a vet?” 

“Yes. And we were going to get our own practice. The savings were in the bank and we’d put plans in motion.” 

“And then?” 

Sirius feels Remus shift in his seat behind him. “And then things fell apart. I got ill. He got frustrated. I actually think he suspected that it was all in my head, and struggled to come back from that when I got my diagnosis. He couldn’t understand how things had changed so drastically overnight. I went from being his partner to being this ailing old man in no time at all. It wasn’t something he signed up for.” 

Sirius, listening carefully, nestles his head to slot between Remus’s knees on the sofa. Remus starts to play with his hair while he talks. 

“It didn’t take long for everything to go south, in the end. We had this huge fight and he walked out. He--” He breathes deeply and nimbly braids a section of Sirius’s hair. “He basically said that I wasn’t worth it; that asking him to stay was asking too much of him. And I assumed it was all just heat of the moment stuff, you know? Thought he was going to come back with his tail between his legs, but next thing I knew, he’d hired a van and was moving his stuff out.”

“You didn’t talk about it?”

“Eventually we did. We sat down and had it out. He cried. I cried. But by then, I don’t think either of us thought that we could go back to what we had.” 

He runs his hand through the plait, and Sirius’s hair falls loose again. He leans back into the touch. 

“So he left. I got a job at a different practice pretty sharpish when he did. And instead of buying a business, I bought this place. 

Sirius’s mouth twitches up at the side. “Good call, I’d say. I love it here.” 

“That makes me very happy,” Remus says genuinely. 

“Did it take you a long time to get over him?” 

“Felt like forever.” 

Sirius hums. And he’s glad he’s not looking at Remus right now, because it would probably rob him of the courage to say what he wants to next. “You seemed to move on from me pretty quickly.” He squeezes his eyes closed. “And that’s not a dig at all, but I was wondering where your head was at. It felt like suddenly Hugo was a thing while I was still just finding the wherewithal to put on trousers that didn’t have an elasticated waistband.”

Remus’s fingers run tenderly over his scalp and there’s an expansive quiet. “I don’t want you to think I wasn’t affected by us breaking up. Actually, I was gutted.” 

Sirius flops his head back into Remus’s lap and gazes up at him. “ _Were_ you?”

“Yes. Put yourself in my shoes. Someone like you comes into my life: someone who’s just this burst of brilliance, who’s charming and hilarious, and more gorgeous than anyone I’ve ever met. And then it turns out that you’re also thoughtful, intelligent, sexy. God, I was done for. And imagine my surprise when you were even halfway interested in someone like me.” 

“You say someone like me like you’re not the Ewan fucking McGregor of the vet world.” 

“Oh, stop,” he huffs. “And then we got together and it was even better than I thought. I liked you so much. I was thinking about... you know, you being a big part of my future. You _being_ my future. But things were just a bit off, weren’t they? I was unwell and I didn’t want to thrust that upon you. And for your part, it felt like you were restless, unsettled. You weren’t sleeping and for all your insistences that you were fine, I couldn’t help but feel like you were backing away.”

“Yeah. I think you’re right. I just-- I’d never met anyone like you. I think I just couldn’t conceive of a situation where I deserved such a happy ending.” He pauses and nudges at Remus’s knee. “Not that sort of happy ending, you insatiable fiend.” 

Remus brushes some hair away from Sirius’s face, leans down and presses a kiss to the back of his head. “And then we broke up. There was an inevitability to it, I think. But I’d been alone for two years before that and you’d given me this taste of what it was like to have someone around who genuinely enriches my life beyond measure. I wasn’t lonely before you came along, but I was after; desperately so, because you’d left this great big Sirius-shaped hole in my life. So when Dorcas said she had a work colleague she could picture me with, I thought it was time I gave myself a shot at real happiness. I know it looked quick. It _was_ quick, but I was done being alone. That sounds pretty sad, but it’s the truth.” 

“I can’t help but feel a bit bad for Hugo,” Sirius says after a moment, still basking in the warmth of Remus’s words. “When I... when I came over to bring your birthday present, I was all ready to tell you everything I’d been dying to say since I saw you at the chilli fest. It suddenly felt very important that I tell you. I didn’t want you walking around not knowing that there was someone in the world who thought you were the best thing ever.” 

“Will you come up here?” Remus asks, running a finger down the length of Sirius’s neck. “It feels weird that we’re having a conversation like this without me being able to see your face.” 

Sirius hoists himself off the floor and settles on the sofa, feet in Remus’s lap. Remus looks at him earnestly, giving him the silence he needs to carry on. 

“Up until that point I thought I’d seen... certain signs that you and Hugo weren’t quite on the same page. A discomfort, or something, on your part. And then I saw the two of you, right here on the sofa. You were asleep and all cosied up to him. It looked... tender, I guess. It sort of flip reversed everything I thought I knew. And then I realised you might not actually be better off with me; that you might be properly happy without me.” 

Remus nods, listening intently. “I wasn’t. He was a bit... possessive sounds too strong, but-- I don’t know if you noticed, but whenever you were around, he didn’t cope all that well. He barely let me out of his sight. And when you left the book, my lovely present, on the doorstep, he flounced off home in a huff.” 

Sirius flexes his toes and Remus starts playing with them idly. 

“I think even if you hadn’t made your... declaration, we still wouldn’t have lasted much longer. That jealous streak in him was showing signs of becoming problematic. He wasn’t one for compromise and I think on some level, he knew my heart lay somewhere else.” 

“With me.” Sirius closes his eyes as Remus kneads his thumbs into the balls of his feet.

“With you,” Remus whispers, and he lifts Sirius’s foot up to kiss the top of it. “Your feet are cold. Here, put them under my bum and you’ll warm up.”

“Mmm, thank you. Nice and toasty.” Sirius shuffles further down the sofa and relishes the warmth of Remus’s body. “Shall we watch a film or something?” 

Remus looks at him, all eyelashes and lovely, statuesque angles. “Yes. What do you fancy?”

“Two Weeks’ Notice.” 

“We watched Two Weeks’ Notice last week.”

“Are you telling me you’ve had enough Two Weeks’ Notice? I didn’t realise it was possible. It’s Sandra Bullock doing what she does best. And Hugh Grant in all his bumbling brilliance. There’s really nothing to dislike, Remus.” 

Remus flashes a playful smile at him. “I’m not saying I’ve had enough - banish the thought. But maybe we could go in for a different guilty pleasure tonight?”

Sirius, who misses the sensation of Remus fiddling with his toes, wiggles them into the firm flesh of Remus’s splendid buttocks, making him squirm. “What are your guilty pleasures?”

“Film-wise, Robin Hood Prince of Thieves. Mostly because Bryan Adams is the greatest of my musical guilty pleasures. Clueless, obviously. And I could watch Four Weddings and a Funeral until I’m old and grey, and I wouldn’t mind too much.” 

“I knew you had a Hugh Grant thing. Just don’t tell Gladys because you’ll never get her talking about anything else.” He picks up the remote. “Right, I’m making an executive decision and we’re going with Robin Hood.” 

“I’ll get the ice cream.” 

When Remus gets up, Sirius’s feet are unpleasantly cold. But then he comes back with the huge blanket that’s usually draped over the rocking chair in the kitchen, sits himself down and reaches his arm out to pull Sirius into his side. He drapes the blanket over both of them, hands Sirius a spoon and presses a kiss to the top of his head, sighing contentedly. He pulls the light cord, plunging them into blissful darkness as the film busts into life. 

\-- 

They have arranged to meet Gladys at a farm shop with a café which, Sirius notes after some intensive Googling, is famed for its organic cider. It was her idea, obviously. 

Sirius, over the course of their last few calls, has gone to great pains to describe his appearance fully so that she’s not alarmed when a six-foot bloke with long hair, tattoos and a leather jacket shows up in rural Somerset and plonks himself down at her table with his even taller same-sex lover (whose appearance is, nonetheless, much less likely to cause alarm because he sort of looks like a primary school teacher or a man you might find in a museum). 

When they get there, she’s already sat at a table with a pint. Sirius knows her right away, even though she’s never told him what she looks like and the café is full of elderly women. She has tight curls and eccentric turquoise glasses, and she doesn’t look a day over eighty-five. 

Sirius is reminded of that poem about mad old ladies who wear purple in flagrant disregard of society’s expectations that they will grow old gracefully. She’s tiny, tucked into the far corner, but that’s really about the only thing small about her. Sirius proffers a little wave and she does a sort of miltary salute in response, so it’s definitely her. 

Neither Sirius nor Remus are routinely cider drinkers, but there’s no beer on the menu, and so they suck it up and order a great big vat of the cloudy stuff which Sirius hauls over to the table. 

“Hello there,” he says, and he feels that he knows her in his soul, somehow, even though they have never technically met. 

“Sirius Black, you are a fraudster.” 

“I am?” He takes a sip of cider, which is delicious, like adult apple juice with a boozy kick. 

She scowls at him from over her cider glass. “You have been utterly remiss in not telling me that you have the face of a Hollywood film star.” Her eyes travel from his head down to his knees and back up again. “And the body of that lovely Jason Momoa.” (He does not have the body of that lovely Jason Momoa, who is both much taller and significantly more ripped than Sirius, who has never set foot in a gym, but he’s pleased at the comparison, regardless.)

She turns her attention to Remus. “The way this one talked, I thought he was some sort of unfortunate-looking charity case and that you were an Adonis, dear. But it’s a wonder you kept your hands off him for so long.” She pauses and seems to realise that she might have caused offence. “Not that you’re bad looking yourself, mind.” 

She fixates on something for a moment, which Sirius thinks must be a dirty mark on the table, but then turns and winks at him. “I see what you meant about his hands,” she says conspiratorially. “Very nice indeed.”

Sirius bursts out laughing. “This is going to be fun,” he says, rubbing his hands together as Remus’s cheeks slowly recover from their scarlet state. 

“I brought you something,” she says, fishing around in her handbag. “And I don’t want you making a fuss, mind. I just don’t want that sneaky Mary to get her grubby fingers on it.” 

She plonks something heavy down on the table and Sirius stares in astonishment. “Gladys, that’s a Fabergé egg.” 

“Yes, dear.” 

“It’s worth thousands.”

“Yes. But you see, I haven’t been in the best of health lately. And I feel very strongly that I am nearing the end.” She looks at him. “Don’t shake your head at me; I’ve had a good innings.” 

Sirius gawps at her. “You were carrying a Fabergé egg around in your handbag.”

“Yes. You might need to ask them for a plastic bag or something so you can get it home.” 

Sirius snorts at such a preposterous suggestion, then frowns. “Gladys, I can’t take this.” 

“You didn’t let me finish. I’d been signed up to that calling service for three years, ever since my darling George was called up to Heaven. And every other person I spoke to was such a tremendous bore.” She straightens up her glasses. “But you! You cheered me up. I may have omitted to mention it, but I really am quite frightfully wealthy. And I’ve no children of my own; never cared for them. I did have corgis, just like the queen, but they’re all long dead now. The vast majority of my dear friends have gone, but darling, you have been a spark of pure joy.” 

Sirius feels a little bit teary. He nods, not trusting himself to form words.

“There will be more coming your way, once I’ve taken my final breaths, but this is the first thing Mary will swipe, given the chance, and I wanted you to have it. I can’t spend any of it when I’m dead.” She pats him on the shoulder. “Don’t hesitate to sell it. I always thought it was rather ugly, actually. But it should fetch you a fair packet. You can buy yourself one of those sailing boats, or a round the world trip.

“Or a Harley Davidson,” Sirius breathes, wide-eyed at the realisation.

“No!” Remus and Gladys laugh in unison.

“Something a bit less dangerous,” she asserts, and he supposes he has to respect her wishes.

\--

Remus insists that it’s good manners to host at least sometimes, to do one’s fair share. And that’s how Sirius finds himself chopping a painfully neat mirepoix for Remus’s party piece casserole which will feed all of Sirius’s friends (and probably half the street, given the size of the pan). He stands back and admires his work. He doesn’t think he could have done much better if he’d whipped a ruler out and measured the little buggers. 

Which makes it all the more heart-breaking when Remus lifts the board out from underneath his fingers and tips the vegetables into a huge vat of a pan that’s heating gently on the hob. He comes back to where Sirius stands, bereft, and kisses him on the lips. “Artistry like that needs to be enjoyed,” he says, and kisses him again, which, to be honest, makes up for it entirely. 

He rakes his fingers through Sirius’s hair and kisses his cheek. “You look so nice tonight.” 

“Got to make an effort, innit,” Sirius grins. 

“I mean it, though. I know everyone jokes, but do you know that you’re sort of next level gorgeous? I hope you know. But if you don’t, I don’t want it to be because I didn’t tell you.” 

Sirius gets the distinct feeling that Remus is working hard to make sure there is no chance of any perceived ambivalence about how he feels now. And he has to admit that likes it. Not that he’ll say it out loud, of course. “You’re starting to sound like Gladys,” he teases, jabbing Remus in the side with his wooden spoon. “Right, then. What now?” 

Remus takes a step back and his eyes rake over Sirius’s face. “Now you get to sit down and watch.” 

“I thought that was your thing.” 

Remus picks up a tea towel and whips him with it. He grins impishly, so lovely and relaxed; Sirius knows he can take some of the credit for that, which feels pretty fucking great. 

“Do you want a drink? I’ve got some Rioja that’s really quite sexy. It’s been sitting there waiting for a bit of an occasion.” 

Sirius laughs through his nose. “What makes it sexy?” 

“How much I paid for it, mostly. Want to give it a go? You’re sort of obliged to like it, otherwise I’m just a massive chump who falls for everything the attractive man in the wine shop tells me.” 

Sirius barks a laugh. “How can I say no to sexy Rioja? You’re busy, I’ll sort it.” 

They move around each other easily in the kitchen: Remus taking dried herbs from the cupboard while Sirius skirts around him to pluck two glasses from the shelf. On the way to the wine, he presses a delicate kiss to the back of Remus’s neck, dusted with downy baby hairs. They pause there together for a moment, Remus reaching behind him to hold Sirius close. 

Sirius, who still finds it hard to draw a full breath when Remus is around, who is still wired and nervy, and turned on whenever he’s in the room, takes a moment to recognise how blissfully happy he is. He tells Remus as much and finally makes it over to the wine rack, sliding the bottle out and artfully removing the cork. 

“I’m happy too.” He looks a bit surprised at his own joy. “I’m really happy, Sirius.”

He tells him little things like this all the time, now. And it’s early days but it really does feel like they’ve learned from past lessons, learned how to navigate, validate and cherish each other. It feels like they have committed to knowing each other more fully this time around.

It feels like something sustainable and _good_.

\--

“You know what really boils my piss?” Peter is getting a little bit red in the face, which is pretty standard, given that he’s had one whole glass of wine and he handles his drink like a twelve year old at a wedding who takes it upon himself to drink the flat beer left at the bottom of all the bottles discarded on the table; pretty badly. 

They have just finished their starters. Remus is sat close to Sirius and has linked their ankles together under the table. He is a relaxed but attentive host, making sure that everyone has what they need, and Sirius is selfishly getting a real kick from having all of his favourite people in one place. The only thing missing is a certain black dog who has had to stay at home because he hasn’t been introduced to Edna yet, and he and Remus agreed that the first time should be a low-key sort of affair; just the four of them. 

Lily raises an eyebrow. “What boils your piss, Pete?” 

“Mary doesn’t want to be with me, right? But she keeps stalking my LinkedIn, which she must know sends me a notification. So what’s she playing at? Yes, that’s right, Mary. I am still a Personal Assistant for a sadistic she-devil in Chanel.” 

“Is that the sequel to Devil Wears Prada?” Sirius asks, topping up their glasses. 

Peter doesn’t appear to have heard him. “Yes, I’m still selling my soul for a pitiful wage. Yes, you’re more successful than me. Yes, you’re more attractive than me. Yes, you’ve moved on and I haven’t. The least you can do is to stop reminding me of these facts via an annoying little LinkedIn notification every other Wednesday until one of us dies.” 

“Call me crazy, Pete, but I think you’re an awful lot more cheery about the whole thing than you were this time last year,” Sirius observes.

“Yes, well,” he harrumphs. “I suppose there’s only a certain amount of moping one can do. And then there’s the pact to worry about.” 

Remus starts to clear the plates and waves Lily away when she tries to help. “The pact?” he asks, looking up from what he’s doing with interest. 

“Ah yes. Sirius hasn’t told you?” James says precociously. “You see, Remus, there’s a lot more riding on your relationship than he might have led you to believe. Because if you dump his hot little ass before Christmas, he is to display that very same ass al fresco, for all of Bristol to see. In the Christmas spirit, you know.” 

Remus smiles. “I’m none the wiser.” 

Marlene, who doesn’t take no for an answer and collects everyone’s cutlery, butts in. “We have agreed that by Christmas eve, all of us will have a significant other to bring to the pub,” she explains. “We all turned up alone this year and it was just plain sad. So far, Sirius is winning. Clearly.” She casts a hand out to motion to the two of them dismissively.

Remus lets out a little laugh and turns to Sirius, eyes cheeky and bright. “And there was me thinking you wanted to get back together because you wanted my body. I’m such a fool.” 

Sirius grins. “Can’t it be both?” He leaps up to help, and then it’s the two of them in the kitchen, smiling at each other like the silly, smitten things they are. “This is great,” Sirius enthuses, as he makes his way over to the oven. “It really feels like you’re part of the crew now.”

“I feel part of the crew now,” Remus smiles. “Which is very lovely.” 

Sirius opens the oven and pulls out the garlic bread which he slides onto a tray with ease. But what he doesn’t realise is that Edna has come to see what all the fuss about. She tangles herself in his feet and he stumbles, stepping on her tail (he didn’t know she was capable of making a noise like that) and watching in slow motion as the garlic bread slides off the tray and onto the floor with a wet splat. 

Sirius looks down at the mess on the floor. Then up at Remus. Then back down to the mess. Then back at Remus. 

“Oh.” 

Remus’s lip quirks up in the corner, and then a huge laugh bubbles out of him as he stares at the mess in disbelief. He looks right at Sirius. “Oh, I do love you,” he says.

Sirius makes a little squealing noise in the back of his throat which is absolutely very manly and not at all embarrassing. “Do you!?” 

Remus steps into his space, artfully avoiding the glutinous grease that cakes the floor. “Quite vehemently,” he says, and he kisses him hard enough that he almost forgets about the guests in the next room. “Don’t cry, though,” he adds, pulling away just as Sirius is thinking about very politely asking everyone to leave without having their main course. “We have company.” 

Sirius laughs a little wetly. “I’m not going to cry. I’m emotionally magnificent now.” 

“Oh right,” Remus laughs, and his eyes look a little on the watery side, too. “Must have missed it.” He wraps him up in a big hug. “Love you,” he whispers. His breath tickles his ear and Sirius is beyond besotted. 

“Love you,” he says back, nuzzling his neck. 

Remus pulls back a smidge. “Shall we clear this up?” 

“Love you.”  
  
“Sirius?” 

“Oh, yes, alright. If you insist.” He reluctantly removes himself from the embrace and grabs a dustpan and brush, doing his best to erase all signs of the mark he has left on the floor. 

And minutes later, they all tuck into the casserole. It’s like someone has turned the noise down on the room as their mouths are full of food. 

“So this pact, then,” Remus says pensively. “How are the two of you doing?” 

“Shit,” Marlene huffs through a mouthful. “I went on a date with this girl from the art scene, but it was all a bit odd and I think she might have been a faith healer.” 

Peter nods enthusiastically. “And I dated this chef for a bit, but I gained two stone in a month and we didn’t connect on an emotional level. So it wasn’t really worth shaving a couple of decades off my life.” 

“I’m beginning to think it’s us, Pete,” Marlene chirps. “Maybe we should just suck it up and marry each other.” 

Peter ponders this for a moment. “I don’t think I could fulfil your needs, Marls.”

She laughs dryly. “Your words.” 

Remus looks at Sirius just as Sirius looks at him, and he knows they’re on the same page. “Marlene,” Remus says slowly. “Actually, I have a friend...”


	13. Chapter 13

A couple of months into his new old relationship, Sirius starts sleeping. He points this out to Remus who confirms that he has noticed but didn’t want to say anything for fear of jinxing it and sending Sirius back into insomniac oblivion. 

Sirius is really quite astonished by the impact a good night’s sleep has on his wellbeing, actually. He feels like a man reborn: it makes him better at work, better to his friends, better in bed, probably. He’ll have to ask Remus whether he’s seen a difference. Regardless, he’s converted to the idea that sleep is more valuable than gold. 

Winter has given way to spring, and with it come long, blustery days that mean they can take Paddy for long walks after work and still get back in time for Remus to do what he needs to in the garden, for Sirius to cook an arthritis-friendly meal for the both of them, and for a spirited lovemaking session in one of several Sirius-approved locations around the house. 

Somewhere along the way, they have started seeing each other every day. They often spend the night apart because of the furry creatures they choose to keep in their homes, but there seems to be a shared understanding that all that separation is temporary, that there will be a complete coming together of lives soon enough. 

Sirius has found a way to let a certain calm float into his feelings for Remus. No more does he feel the need to cling onto him to stop him from going anywhere, instead feeling good about letting him go; assured enough now to realise that he will come back, no matter how long the leash. 

At least, he always has so far. 

Back in April, there was an aborted attempt at a camping trip in Wales. Putting up the tent was fine, and Paddy liked it well enough. The two of them managed to heat up some baked beans on a makeshift stove, and it was all rather jolly. But then the weather set in, blew away the entire awning, and they decided they would rather drive back home at two in the morning than risk waking up without a tent when the sun came up. It was all a good laugh, though, and Sirius came away from it determined that the two of them would take a proper holiday in the not too distant future. 

But now, Lily and James are going off to Hawaii for a few weeks, and Sirius can’t help but wonder whether the shift will throw his carefully crafted dynamic with Remus into disarray. Because up to this point, there has been an understanding that when they spend time together, it’s at Remus’s, unless they’ve made plans with the rest of Sirius’s friends. It’s just easier because they don’t have to navigate other human people and James's incessant questions to Remus about various small animals, their predators, and their habitats (he's been watching just a touch too much David Attenborough). 

Now, though, there’s nothing to stop Remus from coming over to their house and spending actual, tangible time there, free from any disruptions at all. 

It’s with a heavy heart, then, that he bids his housemates adieu as they scamper off to the airport, grinning. He texts Remus to see if he wants to meet at the pub to commiserate. To his relief, it’s a yes, and Sirius is only there for a couple of minutes alone when Remus comes in. He’s so busy grinning at Sirius that he misjudges the seam between the carpet and tiles, and stumbles. 

“Fucksake,” he says, but he’s still smiling. “I’m such a big, galumphing twat.”

Sirius looks into his eyes and his face splits into a mirror of a smile. “Yes,” he says. “But you’re my big, galumphing twat.” 

Remus seems pleased with that, takes his place in the cosy corner of the pub beside him, and gratefully takes a large sip of the pint sat on the table. “How was your day?” he asks. 

“Fairly decent. Except Horace had his naggy knickers on and he sent me all the way to London, all because his wife let slip that she quite fancies me. I tried to tell him she’s not my type, but I think he took it as a slight.” 

“There’s no winning from that scenario,” Remus concedes. Sirius brushes the foam from his upper lip and Remus leans into his touch, seemingly without thinking. 

“Nope. How about you?”

Remus picks up a beer mat, then puts it down again. “It wasn’t bad. Anita wasn’t in a great mood so I had to tiptoe around her all day.” 

“Maybe it’s just wanker boss day. They must have sent a memo around or something.” 

Remus nods quietly. He looks at his pint for a moment, then at Sirius. “One day, maybe we won’t have to worry about wanker bosses.” 

Sirius’s brow furrows in mock concern. “I think taking out a hit is maybe a step too far.”

Remus smiles in spite of his better judgment. “I meant that we could work for ourselves. It’s not that outrageous, is it? I could set up my own practice, and you could--”

“Make amateur pornos.” Sirius nods enthusiastically. “Not a bad plan, Lupin.” 

Remus shakes his head, laughing. “God. Well, no. That’s not quite what I had in mind, although I’ve no doubt that there would be a market for your particular brand of sex appeal. You could do whatever you want, really. Have you given it much thought?”

“Well I always used to want to be a barber. But I think perhaps I was just dealing with some repressed gay stuff and wanted to touch men’s hair. Hair is a big thing for me, you know? And then, when I was little, I thought I’d be a fireman.” 

Remus’s pupils swell at the thought, but he lets Sirius carry on. 

“Now, I think I would just like to do something where I don’t have to sit behind a desk all day. Something that will mean I can meet lots of people and use my inimitable powers of persuasion.” 

Remus squeezes his knee under the table. “We’ll give it some thought,” he says. “How are you feeling about James and Lily being away?” 

“Fine, really. I’d rather like to be going with them, but I was told in no uncertain terms that I do not add to the romance factor. So...” 

“We’ll go away,” Remus says after a moment. “Soon enough. I feel like I haven’t had a proper holiday in an eternity.” 

The thought of holidaying with Remus is enough to perk him up, and by the time they get back to Remus’s for dinner, he’s positively chirpy. 

“Have you told your mum about me?” Sirius asks, once they’ve eaten. They’re up in Remus’s room, Sirius sat at the desk and Remus stretched out on the bed, reading veterinary journals that detail advances made in the prevention of respiratory problems in brachycephalic dog breeds.

He glances up. “Yes.” 

“What did you say?” 

He sighs. “That there’s someone in my life I’d like to introduce her to, and I’d very much like her not to do something supremely embarrassing like feeling you up or getting you to put up a shelf because you’re taller than Barry.” 

“Ha! Well, that’s a start. When are we going to do the deed, then?” 

“I’m not sure I’m emotionally prepared.”

“It’ll be just fine.”

“I’ve heard that the traffic on the A453 is just torture at the moment.”

“We’ll get the train.”

“Barry is a West Ham fan and I’m really worried that your life might be in danger because of the well known rivalry between your teams.”

“Remus,” Sirius says softly. 

Remus hauls in a deep breath and sighs it out slowly. “Yeah, okay. I’ll make the call.”

“Well done, ma puce. You have shown great strength in the face of extreme adversity.”

“You’re disturbingly persuasive, you know that?”

“I’ve been told.” Sirius picks up Remus’s glasses from his desk and slides them on, squinting around the room. “You’re not very blind, are you?” 

Remus sniffs a laugh. “That’s like a tried and tested nerd chat up line. How short sighted are you? What’s your prescription? Can I try your glasses on? Trust me, I’ve used that one to great effect in the past.”

He looks up at Sirius and all the mirth is wiped clean from his face. 

“Fuck me, you look incredible. Oh god, Sirius. This is like all my fantasies come at once. Wait, not quite. Tie your hair back and say something in French.” 

Sirius, all giddy, gathers his hair into a messy bun, lowers the glasses to the bridge of his nose and gazes at Remus through sultry eyes. “J’ai une première édition de ‘À la recherche du temps perdu.’ Tu veux le voir?”

Remus’s eyes are stretched wide with disbelief and pure lust. “Come here right now.” 

Sirius giggles and flops down onto the bed. He makes to remove the glasses but Remus stops him with firm hands on his wrists. “Nope. The glasses stay.” 

Sirius grins pulls Remus on top of him. “Dr Lupin, you appear to have a huge erection.” 

“You’re wearing glasses. Do you have any clue how hot you look?” 

“No,” Sirius says, chest heaving like a generously bosomed heroine in a period drama. “You’ll have to tell me.” 

Remus grins wickedly, propping himself up on his elbows, either side of Sirius’s shoulders. “You look like every boy I had a crush on at university. This is very evocative for me. You just need a spritz of Lynx Africa and I’ll be twenty again.” 

“I bet you were insanely hot when you were twenty.” 

“There are pictures,” Remus smiles, straightening the glasses on Sirius’s head. “I’ll let you see them once we’ve done this.”

“Done what?” Sirius asks innocently, looking up and smiling. 

Remus doesn’t answer. He is a solid weight on top of him and he looks into his eyes for a long while. “Say something in French,” he whispers eventually. 

Sirius feels his lips stretching into a lazy smile. “T’es beau, mon rayon de soleil. Et je veux passer ma vie avec toi.”

Remus rolls his eyes. “So cheesy.”

“You don’t know what I said!” 

“But I know it was cheesy.” He leans down and kisses him, hand gliding down his side and hovers over the bulge in Sirius’s pants. “Just FYI, I’m going to come in like three seconds. But I can’t be held responsible. You’re wearing glasses and speaking French and it’s very nearly too much for my fragile sensibilities to handle.” 

Sirius kisses him hard, laughing into it and thinking absently that it really is about time he had an eye test. 

\--

Sirius is on the way to work when his phone vibrates in his pocket. It’s Marlene. The text just says _FUCKKKKKKK_. 

He’s only a minute away, so he speeds up his walk and swoops upon her desk where she is uncharacteristically flustered. 

“What’s up, hot stuff?” 

“Sirius. God. Sirius, I think I need to hand my notice in.”

He laughs, wholly accustomed to her dramatic ways. “Tell me all about it.” 

“Horace texted me. He texted me to ask if I would do a job in Weston today, right? And I texted back but I was really distracted because the coffee machine had started doing that thing where it just sort of throws out little puffs of milk foam but no actual liquid.” 

“The struggle is real.” 

“And I said sorry, no can do. I’m really busty today.” She cringes at Sirius’s cackle. “And to make it worse, I put two kisses at the end. Two, Sirius. Even you don’t get two.” 

Sirius’s shoulders shake with laughter and he takes his jacket off, slinging it over the back of his chair. “Did he reply?”

“Oh yes,” she shudders. “Yes, he very much did. He texted back unacceptably quickly with a disgusting comment about hoping I was wearing a robust brassiere and a winky face. A fucking winky face. Who the fuck taught him how to use emojis? Was it you, because if so, we’re going to have words.” 

“Alas, I am innocent,” he sniffs. “In your defence, your text wasn’t inaccurate. You are looking fairly busty this morn.” 

She looks at him, unimpressed. “This is why I need you to set me up with this Dorcas. I’m off men. You’re like ninety-percent of the reason why.” 

“I think I should probably be offended by that.” 

“To add insult to very serious, life-threatening injury, I have the shits.” 

Sirius laughs through his nose. “Do you think we’re too close? Sometimes I think we’re too close.” 

“I think we’re grand. Just don’t tell Dorcas that I’m disgusting. I’d like her to find out once she’s already fallen hopelessly in love with me.” 

“Yeah, okay.” He looks at her. She’s wearing hoop earrings and a lot of lace and eyeliner. “You look like a fortune teller today.” 

She nods seriously. “That means a lot, thank you.” 

Marlene takes a phone call and Sirius takes the opportunity to arrange all of the items in his ‘documents’ folder into meticulous sub-categories. Which takes up at least fifteen minutes of what looks set to be a very dull day indeed. 

“So how are we going to do this, then?” Marlene asks once she’s hung up. 

“It’s up to you. We can either give you her number and just leave you to get on with it, or we can orchestrate some sort of elaborate meet cute.” 

“Number will be fine, thanks.” 

“Very well then.” He nods gravely. “And I’ll make sure to keep schtum about the fact that you’re disgusting.” 

“Much obliged. And if you could keep quiet about the angry guts, that would be just lovely. Although, I’ve heard that angry guts bring all the boys to the yard.”

“Do you want boys in your yard?” 

She turns to him. “At this point, darling, I’d settle for anyone in my yard.” 

“But not Pete.” 

She ponders this. “No. So not anyone, I suppose. I think we’ll stick with the Dorcas plan.” 

\--

“I know it’s late.” Sirius says dramatically, scraping the remains of their dinner into the bin while Paddy stands by in the vain hope that some scraps will find their way to the floor. “I know you’re weary.” 

Remus looks at him strangely. “It’s only nine-thirty. And I’m fine, really. I had a nap--”

“I know your plans don’t include me.”

Remus cottons on and exhales slowly.

Sirius grins and bursts into song. “Still here we are, both of us lonely. Longing for shelter from all that we’ve seen. Why should we worry? No-one will care, Re.” 

“Look at the stars now, so far away,” Remus chips in grumpily. He actually has a fairly lovely singing voice but Sirius doesn’t think he’ll appreciate him pointing it out. 

So he cracks on, not wanting to lose out on the punchline: “We’ve got tonight. Who needs tomorrow? We’ve got tonight, babe. Why don’t you stay?”

Remus stares at him incredulously. Sirius cocks an eyebrow. Paddy yawns in the corner. 

“Was that just a really contrived way of asking me to stay the night?”

“I think it was sort of a really contrived way of asking you to stay every night.” 

Remus looks at him softly. “That doesn’t make much sense. You have two housemates, whereas I’m rattling around in that big house all by myself.” 

“Hmm. It is a nice house.” 

“Much nicer when you’re in it.” Remus turns to him and tips his head forward just a touch. “Actually, I think I’d like you to be in it a whole lot more. Okay, it’s going to be very difficult to say what I’m going to say next without it coming out all creepy and possessive.” 

“Give it a go,” Sirius laughs. 

“Yes, okay. The thing is, now that we’re together, I’m done beating around the bush, really. I don’t want to mess around anymore. I want you. And I want you _properly_. There in my home, if that’s what you’d like.” 

“Are you asking me to move in with you?” 

Remus shoots him with an intense look that makes Sirius’s legs turn to jelly. “Would you like to? The nights when you’re not there... well, I sleep a whole lot better actually, because you’re not there wriggling like a little man worm and kneeing me in the goolies. But it’s nowhere near as much fun without your running commentary, or your ridiculous skincare regime.” His expression softens. “I’d like you to sleep beside me every night; for you and Paddy to come and live with me.”

“What about Edna?” 

“Edna will absolutely hate it.” 

Sirius barks out a big laugh. “Do you actually want me there _all_ the time?”

“Yes,” Remus says straight away, and Sirius can tell that he’s already done all his thinking. “Very much so.”

“I’d pay rent,” Sirius says after a moment. “And split the bills with you. I don’t have much stuff. I wouldn’t really get in the way.” 

“Sirius,” Remus chides gently. “You’re allowed to take up space in my life. It would be _our_ house and I’d want you to feel like it was your home, too. You can have as much stuff as you like. Although, we might need to talk about the koala.” He’s referring to the life-sized stuffed marsupial Sirius has from his university days which was his prize for winning a jello shot competition in an Australian bar in Birmingham.

“Krispy and I are kind of a package deal. We can talk about Paddy,” Sirius winks. 

Remus huffs out a laugh through his nose. “You do know what this means, though?” 

“I do. We need to introduce them as a matter of some urgency.” 

“Tomorrow,” Remus nods. “But for now, to answer your original question. Yes. I’ll stay the night.” 

“Splendid. And I’ve made some chocolate mousse just for you. Special Remus mousse. Remousse, if you will.” 

Remus looks at him with big, incredulous eyes. “I _will_ partake in the chocolate dessert you have lovingly made for me. But if you use the words ‘special Remus mousse’ again, I think I might have to reconsider tonight’s sleeping arrangements.” 

Sirius, who is still pretty pleased with the pun, barks out a laugh. “Nah. Admit it. You want me, terrible sense of humour and all.” 

Remus sighs. “I do.” His eyes run over Sirius’s body and linger on his chest. “Actually, I really do. Shall we take the Remousse to bed?”

\--

Marlene moves quickly in the end. And the very same night Sirius and Remus are set to embark on the great pet introduction, she and Dorcas go on their first date, to the pub around the corner. 

Sirius rings Remus when he’s a couple of minutes away from the house, Paddy pulling him along so that they move at a brisk trot. 

“They’re literally meeting up three minutes away from yours. Shall we go and spy on them?” 

“No, love.” 

“You’re no fun.” 

“And you need to stop putting off the inevitable.” 

“What if they don’t get on? I’ll have to rent the house next door and we can have sleepovers. Like Helena Bonham-Carter and Tim Burton.” 

“They broke up.” 

“Well then, we’ve really got a lot riding on this. Has she ever even met a dog?” 

“No.” 

“God. Right, I’m at your door. Open up.” 

The door swings open and Remus stands there, smiling softly. “She’s in the kitchen,” he says. “Let’s get this over with.” 

It’s all very anticlimactic in the end because when they open the door and tentatively let them meet - Paddy on the lead so that Sirius can yank him away when everything goes south - Edna saunters up to Paddy, gives him an unimpressed sniff, then walks off and curls up in the rocking chair. 

He looks at Remus. “Was that good or bad?” 

Remus shrugs. “Distinctly neutral. So I think we can chalk it up as a win, yes?” 

“I mean, I was going to make it work regardless. Paddy and I could have lived in the shed if needs be.” 

Remus smiles fully. “I think you can let him off, now. We seem to have passed the danger zone.” 

“And now we can go and crash the fabled date?” 

“No. Now we can sit down and watch something trashy and leave our friends well alone.” 

“Fine,” Sirius chunters. “But I’m texting Marls in all the ad breaks.” 

\-- 

When Lily and James return, it’s with a healthy Hawaiian glow and news that makes Sirius question everything he knows to be true. 

“You got married?!” 

Lily glances at James and bites her lip. They seem to communicate telepathically, as if to say _‘this is what we rehearsed for’_ , and Sirius has to sit down. 

“How long ago did you do it?” 

“Two weeks.” 

“Were you ever going to fucking tell me?” 

“Sirius,” Lily breathes. 

“No. No! You know what, you can’t play your lady mind tricks on me where somehow you engineer my feelings so that I’m not angry at you! I’m onto your tactics, Evans. Or is that even your real name?” 

“Well, no. It’s Potter now--” 

He looks between them and he feels, selfishly, like they have callously yanked his battered little heart right out of his chest, smeared it in dog poo and stamped all over it. 

When he tells Lily as much, she looks particularly exasperated. 

“Did you plan this?” 

She sighs. “Yes. We did. And we didn’t tell you because we knew you wouldn’t take it well.” 

“Oh yes, because I’m your problem fucking child,” he spits, sinking down into one of the kitchen chairs while Paddy noses at him, big eyes full of concern. 

This time, it’s James who speaks. “Sirius Black,” he says firmly. “You are my best friend in the whole damn world. But this isn’t about you. We didn’t want any fuss. We didn’t want a big ceremony or to pay out of the arse for chair covers and centrepieces. So when we booked the trip, we decided we’d do it there.” He draws in a steadying breath. “Lily is everything to me. But it doesn’t lessen our relationship with you. It doesn’t mean you’re not as firmly placed in our lives. We love you. And you might be our problem child, but we never want you to go anywhere.” 

He feels alarmingly close to tears, and there’s a loaded silence while Lily and James just stare at him. 

They look at each other again, and back at him. “We brought you a present.” 

“I don’t want it,” he says sulkily. He turns to James. “I had a best man’s speech all laid out in my head.” 

James looks twitchy. “You could give it a go now?” 

Sirius blows a raspberry. He’s honestly a little bit livid that they would do this without him, that they would leave him all alone in this vast, cruel world. Then he spots the ring on Lily’s finger and a single tear tracks down his cheek. He can feel his bottom lip wobbling, like he’s a displaced little toddler. “Guys,” he says eventually. “I’m pleased for you. I really am. But I’m just a bit shocked, and I think it’ll take me a little while to get used to the idea.” 

They both nod enthusiastically. 

“And I would like to throw James the stag do I had planned.” 

“Deal.” 

“And I would like my present.”

James laughs. “Agreed.” 

“And I also have some news. But now you’re going to think it’s because I’m acting out.” 

They exchange glances. 

“I’ve decided to go and live with Remus. Paddy and I, that is.” 

And so, the evening is seismic for a number of reasons. As usual, it’s Remus who makes him see sense the next day. And then, he’s able to shift his focus from his perceived betrayal to gain a sense of perspective about the whole thing. It doesn’t take long until he really is pleased for them, and only a tiny bit slighted. And for their part, they begin to get used to the idea that he will soon be leaving them, starting his own new chapter in life. 

\--

They walk through the station concourse, half an hour early because Remus was in charge of when they left the house. They buy strong Italian coffee and walk around aimlessly for a bit. Remus eyes up the Moleskine notebooks like they’re forbidden pornography. Sirius makes a mental note to get him some on the sly. 

And then, Sirius spots the piano, right there on the concourse for anyone to play. 

His eyes widen and he turns to Remus. “I will need you to hold my coffee for a second, please.” 

“What are you doing?” 

Sirius winks. “It’s time for some pleasure of the distinctly guilty variety.” He thrusts his coffee into Remus’s waiting hand and jogs over to the piano and takes his seat. It’s been a while since he played, but it turns out that it’s a bit like riding a bike, which he now knows is a piece of cake. 

He plays the opening bars, and he’s pleased he can’t see Remus’s face, because he would definitely crack up and lose all composure. 

_“Look into my eyes. You will see what you mean to me. Search your heart, search your soul, and when you find me there, you’ll search no more.”_

He hears Remus mumble behind him. “This is the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever done.” 

_“Don’t tell me it’s not worth trying for. You can’t tell me it’s not worth dying for. You know it’s true: everything I do, I do it for you.”_

“We’re going to miss our train.” 

Sirius breathes in and raises his eyebrows at the old woman opposite. _“Look into your heart, you will find there's nothing there to hide. Take me as I am. Take my life. I would give it all, I would sacrifice.”_

“Please stop.” 

Sirius worries for a moment that he might have crossed a line. He tilts his head backwards to look at Remus, whose cheeks are burning a delicious red, but whose mouth is cocked in a smile. 

_“You can’t tell me it’s not worth trying for. I can’t help it, there’s nothing I want more. You know it’s true: everything I do, I do it for you.”_

He decides to wrap it up there in case the heat in Remus’s cheeks causes him to spontaneously combust. 

He stands up and grins at Remus, who is standing uselessly, holding two coffees and visibly mid-fluster. He walks up to him and takes the cup back from his hand, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “Sorry, baby. Did I choose the wrong Bryan Adams song?” 

Remus huffs out a laugh. “No. And don’t call me baby. I’m thirteen years older than you.” 

But Sirius isn’t really listening. He starts bobbing his hip up and down and snaps his fingers. “You’ve got some nerve and baby, that’ll never do.” Sirius sings, wobbling his head around, right up in Remus’s grill. “You know I don’t belong to you.”

“Do you use the spoken word now, or can I expect that we will converse solely in song from hereon in?” 

“I’ll have you know that I’m a gifted bard. Many a man would give his right bollock to be serenaded like that on a grand piano.”

Remus’s mouth wobbles around as he decides where to pitch his dismay. “I am an introvert,” he says simply, but he takes Sirius’s hand and wraps it in his own, squeezing lightly and leading him to the platform. 

“You know, there was a bunch of pre-teen girls watching your performance who might never get over the experience. I think one of them was close to fainting. Her friend had to prop her up against Hotel Chocolat.” 

“Do you want to break it to them, or shall I?” 

Remus’s shoulders shake with laughter. “I think they’ll be over it by lunchtime.” 

“And what about you?” 

“I may never recover.” 

“In a good way or a bad way?”

“Oh,” Remus laughs. “All bad.” But his eyes are bright and Sirius has to think hard about whether he’s ever seen him look more in love. He doesn’t think so. And so, he kisses him, hand settled happily on his hip. He’s gorgeous, and calm, and he has this lovely, relaxed way about him that makes Sirius want more and more and more. 

Remus pulls away, eyes smiling. “I have a horrible feeling that my mum is going to like you a bit too much.”

“Oh,” Sirius laughs, then leans in close. “I’ll make sure of it, sugar.” 

\--

Outside the front door, Remus turns to him, wide-eyed. “Sirius, do you love me?” 

Sirius does a double take. “What? Yes. Yes of course.”

Remus nods twice. “Please hold onto that thought.” He breathes in deeply, then bites his lower lip. He steps forward and lifts the brass knocker, letting it fall heavily against the oak door. He laces his fingers with Sirius’s and the door swings open to reveal a tiny, rotund woman with brassy blonde hair that sticks out, possibly not by design. 

She jerks her head upwards and takes them in. “Well, blow me! He lives!” 

Remus’s lip quirks up in amusement. “Mum, don’t say blow me, please.” 

She tuts and waddles forward. “Already, you’re telling me off. Yes, I see how it is. Well, are you going to introduce us?” 

Remus’s mouth splits into a full grin that’s genuine if not a little uptight. “Mum, this is Sirius. Sirius, this is my mum, Hope.” 

She reaches up and grasps both of his cheeks. “Sirius Orion Black,” she says dramatically. “It is such a huge pleasure to meet you at last.” 

“Same to you, Hope,” he laughs. “I brought you some sherry.”

She turns back to Remus. “He can stay,” she says frankly, and ushers them through to the lounge where a bald man sits in a heavily used armchair. He looks up. “Remus, lad!” He hoists himself out of the chair and grabs Remus’s right hand between both of his, shaking it rigorously. He turns to Sirius. “And you must be Remus’s friend Sirius.” 

Sirius raises an eyebrow, and he should probably be put out, but there’s something quite hilarious about the man’s capacity to ignore what’s staring him in the face. 

Hope tuts again. “Barry,” she scolds. “They’re not friends, they’re homosexual partners. How many times do we have to do this?”

Sirius is really very close to laughing out loud. Instead, he plumps for the armchair in the corner and makes himself at home. “You have a very lovely house,” he says, after a long pause. 

“Thank you, love. The walls aren’t really popping in here, though, are they? I asked for sage. I’ve never seen sage this colour, have you?”

Sirius nods politely, though in truth, he has no idea what colour sage is. 

Barry turns his attentions to Sirius. “So, lad. Do you work?” 

Remus looks at him, distinctly unimpressed. “Barry,” he says in a low, warning voice. 

Sirius is unperturbed. “I work for this company called Slughorn Hops. It’s a small vendor, specialising in new world and Belgian hops.” 

“Sirius is their top salesman,” Remus says quietly. 

“Very good,” Barry nods. “Do you know what I like? That Old Speckled Hen. Good old fashioned ale. Would you care for one, Sirius?” 

Sirius weighs up his choices: force down a beer that he thinks is mildly disgusting, or endure this sober.

He doesn’t have to do much thinking. 

“Yes, please.”

“I’ll get them!” Hope fusses around them. “Wine for you, Remus?” 

“I’ll have a beer, please.” 

They sit in silence while Hope busies herself in the kitchen. Sirius wishes that Remus was sitting next to him so he could send some semblance of comfort his way, but he can only watch as he drums his fingers on his knee, agitated and tense. 

He does the next best thing, whipping his phone out and texting him. _This too shall pass_ , he writes, slaps five kisses at the end for good measure, and presses send. 

He sees the curl upwards of Remus’s lip as he reads it and slips his phone back into his pocket. Hope bustles back into the room, impressively carrying three pint glasses which she doles out to the menfolk. 

“Thanks, Mum!” 

“Thank you, Hope.” Sirius takes the beer, grateful to have something to do with his hands. Barry doesn’t appear to say thank you, but Sirius decides to give him the benefit of the doubt. He probably isn’t a dreadful misogynist. Probably. 

“Sirius, darling, do you eat meat?” she asks, looking overly concerned about the matter. 

“Enthusiastically, yes.” He grins at her and her shoulders sink down in relief. 

“Any other dietary requirements, pet?” 

“I eat everything,” he says genuinely. 

“It’s true,” Remus adds. “He had the ‘meat surprise’ from the curry house the other day. Call me crazy, but I don’t really want there to be any surprise around the sort of animal I’m eating.” 

“Well, it’s good not to be fussy, isn’t it? This one growing up was ever so pernickety. Went through a period where he would only eat spaghetti hoops and dolly mixtures. But he grew out of it eventually.” 

“And I only got rickets the once,” he winks at Sirius. 

“Oh, so dramatic!” she laughs, “He never got rickets. Just a mild vitamin deficiency. I was thinking of doing shepherd’s pie for tea, does that work for everyone?”

There are general noises of assent, and she nods happily, making her way to the kitchen. 

“I’ll go and help,” Remus says quickly. “Want to join, or are you okay here?” 

“We’ll be fine, won’t we, Barry?” 

Barry grunts. 

Sirius looks up at Remus, eyes glinting. “We’ll be fine.” 

“So, he’s finally moved on from that whatshisface then?” Barry says unexpectedly, a few minutes later. 

“Will?” 

Barry shrugs. 

“Yes, he has.” Sirius raises a challenging eyebrow his way, emboldened. 

“You’re quite a lot younger.” 

“Yes.”

“You’re not a gold digger, are you?” 

Sirius sniggers. “No, Barry. No, I’m not.” 

“Good. Because he might have have a house and all that, but he’s just an employee, you know. Not even a partner at that little vets,” he huffs. “Probably because he’s always off sick.” 

Sirius does start to bristle, then. Because it’s fine to make judgmental comments about him, but Remus is an absolute no go. 

“Actually, he’s only been off sick once in the last eighteen months." He breathes out slowly. "Because he was so unwell, he could barely fucking walk.” 

“Language, Sirius.” 

“And he’s setting up his own practice,” he adds. It’s not the truth, yet. But Sirius suddenly has a very good idea of where the money from the egg is going to go. He just needs to find his moment to pitch the idea to Remus, knowing that he will face significant resistance. 

“Well,” Barry chunters. “You mark my words, it’ll all go tits up. No business acumen, that one.” 

“I think he’s going to be just fine,” Sirius seethes. Because he knows Remus: sensible, careful, competent Remus, and he can’t really think of anyone he would trust more as a recipient of a business loan. “I’m going to go and see if I can help in the kitchen. Can I get you another beer?” 

Barry shakes his head and Sirius takes his leave, poking his head around the kitchen door. The sight that greets him is enough to warm the cockles of his shrivelled little heart. Remus and Hope are standing close together, each of them with their own chopping board, backs to him, chatting away. Sirius listens for a moment before they’ve realised he’s there.

“He’s lovely,” she says approvingly.

“He is.” 

“And it’s so nice to see you happy.”

“Thank you. It’s-- it’s the real deal with him.” 

“Do you think you’ll marry him?” 

Sirius’s heart plummets in his chest. Because he doesn’t want Hope to startle Remus, to scare him off when things are going so tremendously well.

“Yes,” Remus says, really very quickly. “One day. But for now, it’s still very new.” 

“Not really,” she insists. “You’ve loved him for a year.” 

Remus is quiet for a moment, the rocking of his knife as he chops carrots the only sound. “Bit longer than that,” he says quietly. 

Sirius’s heart is fit to bursting. He stands in the doorway and thinks about marrying Remus one day, thinks about Remus in a suit - it would definitely be tweed - stood up in front of everyone they know, stood up in front of Sirius and telling him that he’ll love him forever. He couldn’t conjure himself a happier future if he tried. 

Remus seems to sense his presence, then. He turns around and smiles warmly, beckoning him inside. 

The three of them chat easily and move around each other in the kitchen. Easily, at least, until Remus casually observes that Barry is doing nothing to help.

Hope tuts and a heavy silence falls on the room. “You have to understand, Remus,” she says eventually, and Sirius gets the impression that it's a conversation they have had before. “Your father was my big love in life. And we had twenty years of a marriage that was happy beyond measure. Oh that everyone should be so lucky!” She smooths the mashed potato over the meaty base. “But I was still young when he died. Only a little bit older than you, actually. I didn’t want to spend a lifetime alone. Do you understand that?” 

Remus looks at the floor. “Yes. But I hope you didn’t settle for someone who doesn’t make you feel valued because you thought you had to.” 

“Oh darling. He makes me feel valued. You really do see the worst of him because he gets all worked up when you’re coming; all tense and fidgety. But he’s really very fond of you.” She looks up at her son. “And he’s good to me.” 

“Okay,” he says, but he doesn’t sound convinced. 

That night, in the budget hotel at the bottom of the road (Remus politely declined his mother’s invite for the two of them to stay the night at theirs), Remus ends up being the little spoon as they cuddle naked between stiff cotton sheets. Sirius strokes his neck. 

“How are you doing?” 

“Okay,” Remus says quietly. “It’s-- it shouldn’t still be weird. It’s been so long.” He breathes in deeply. “But that’s the house I was raised in, the place I grew up. And I still miss him. I sort of miss the life we might have all had if he hadn’t got ill. Does that make sense?” 

“Yes.” 

“He was an unusually kind man. And he loved us both to pieces. He loved us both so much that it made up for the fact they couldn’t have any more kids.”

“Do you believe that he’s still around, looking down on you?” 

“No,” Remus says softly. “Do you?” 

“No.” He presses a lingering kiss to the back of Remus’s head. “Your mum said something. About how your dad was her big love. But that she didn’t want to stay alone, so she ended up with Barry. That’s not how you feel about me, is it? Are you sure Will wasn’t your big love and I’m not your Barry?”

Remus turns over in bed and kisses him firmly. “Sirius,” he says. “I want you to listen very carefully. You are my big love. You’re it. Understand? _You’re_ it. I didn’t know it at the time, but how I felt for Will didn’t really compare.”

Sirius kisses him again and can feel Remus smiling into it. “Well, thank goodness for that,” Sirius pants. “I’m not sure I could pull off Barry-level baldness.” 

Remus snickers. “Somehow, you’d make it hot.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has references to panic attacks, abuse, and vomit. But don't worry, it's really rather cheery. 
> 
> Sorry for the delay and thank you for your patience :)

“Tell me about your father,” Susan says brusquely, making notes in the margin of her notebook. She has a mustard suit on, which appears to be a new addition to her wardrobe and clashes violently with her bright red chandelier earrings. 

He chews on his dry bottom lip and arches an eyebrow at her. “Do I have to?” 

“I would strongly encourage it,” she says dryly, looking at him with that expression that somehow makes him spill his deepest, darkest secrets (and some of them are distinctly Black in nature). “We haven’t spoken about him much.” 

“He’s a cunt,” Sirius says flatly. “A rich, run of the mill, right-wing cunt. There’s not much else to say.”

She doesn’t flinch at the words, which makes him like her more. 

“You were firmly in the public eye growing up,” she observes. “You and your family.”

“Sort of,” Sirius nods. “I mean, obviously, there was lots of scrutiny on him. But luckily for me, they shipped Reggie and I off to boarding school, so I could mostly just be myself in term time. It was going home for the holidays that was altogether less wholesome.”

“Not many people speak of their time at boarding school so fondly.” 

Sirius smiles slowly. “For me, it was the best.” He looks down at his knees. “I had James. Right away, he was just the love of my life, really. We were clever and naughty; got up to all sorts of hijinks but the teachers loved us anyway, I think because we made them laugh. I won’t say we always toed the line, but yeah, he was just always there to look out for me. And when I’d come back to school black and blue, he’d just... help. Just by being there. He has always helped.”

He breathes in deeply, though his lungs feel a little hollow. 

“You want to know about my dad?” He pauses. “He’s no devil. But I was not the son he needed me to be. Just some sharp-mouthed little nancy boy with long hair who was good for nothing except getting in the way and threatening his carefully crafted image. And when my mother employed some unorthodox tactics to whip me into shape, he was certainly not the first to try and stop her, as long as it wasn’t anything the media could pick up on; nothing north of the collar.” He scratches his head. “I feel so much lighter now they’re gone from my life.” 

She nods. “You don’t need to feel any guilt at all for cutting toxic people out of your life, even if those people share your genes.” 

“Good,” he nods. “To be honest, guilt has only ever come into play when it comes to Reggie. But we’re on better terms now.” 

“And James? Are you feeling an element of guilt now that you’re moving out and leaving him?”

Sirius’s mouth tilts up at the side. “Not guilt, no. But we’ve lived together for thirteen years, or something ridiculous. So I do feel a definite sense of loss.” 

“That’s only natural. And Lily?” 

Sirius is starting to feel a little choked up. “Lily is like an embarrassing aunty who loves me without any conditions but is disappointed when I’m a dickhead. She calls me on my shit and makes me eat properly.” He wipes limply at his eye. “I love her just as much.” 

“Moving onto new chapters in our lives can often provoke feelings that are comparable to grief. Even though we are gaining so much, there is almost always a consequent loss.”

“It’s silly,” he says quietly. “What was I going to do? Keep living there forever while they have kids and get on with their lives? This always had an expiration date. But I sort of figured that they would get sick of me and turf me out. The fact that I’ve done this of my own volition has come as a bit of a surprise, I suppose.” 

“Have you got used to the idea that they got married without telling you?”

“Yes. I get it now. It’s not about me. I was being selfish. It’s exactly the sort of thing I would do with Remus; that’s what I’ve realised. Going off somewhere exotic and eloping. It’s romantic, isn’t it?”

She looks at him softly. “Is that on the cards?” 

“Oh! No! Gosh, no. We’re still at that stage where we’re getting to know everything about each other.” 

“Very wise,” she says knowingly. “But moving in together is a big step. How are you feeling about it?” 

“Brilliant. So bloody excited.” He looks down at his bitten fingernails. “Actually, I think his house felt like home a really long time ago.” He thinks back to the first time Remus invited him over, to the apple tree and the goat’s cheese and the flicker of romance that ran through everything, back when Sirius didn’t even know if Remus wanted him back. His mouth splits into a grin. “And the man inside it is everything. I mean, he’s just... I want him. Permanently. L’amour toujours.” 

“You seem less fearful now. Less afraid that he might go somewhere.” 

“Yes. Yeah, he’s not going anywhere,” he laughs. “I feel... secure.”

“Good,” she says, and she’s smiling to herself. “Good.”

\--

“How long is it?” Sirius asks, peeling the foil lid off the top of the milk. 

“I’d be gone for two nights. The conference is spread over three days.”

“I’m waiting for the catch, here. You get to mull around in Birmingham for a few days, meet people who are just as excited about otter spraints as you are, have a few bevvies, then come back, fall into my waiting arms and plough me on the dining table like the little slut I am.”

Remus coughs, surprised. “I really never know what you’re going to say next.” 

“I like to keep you on your toes. You’d get bored otherwise, so consider this a healthy dose of toe-keeping.”

“Thank you?” 

“Yes, you’re welcome. Anyway, the point is that I think you should go. You’ll enjoy it. And you’ll learn things. You love learning things!” 

Remus ponders this. “I do love learning things.” 

Sirius waggles his eyebrows. “And ploughing me like the little slut I am.” 

“I’m not going to repeat that.”

“I know, because you respect me too much. Which I do appreciate really, but just know that I don’t mind if you’re thinking it and it gets you off. We’ll both agree to pretend you’re not thinking it when you get that look in your eye like you want to devour me with whipped cream.”

“That sounds nice. Do we have any?” 

“Concentrate, Remus. When is this conference?” 

“First week in July.” 

“Perfect. And then the following weekend, it’s James’s stag do.” 

Remus smiles at him. “About that. I think you should just go and enjoy yourself. Leave me here to look after the animals and you can go off with your boys to give James the send-off he deserves. Nobody wants your boyfriend tagging along.” 

“You are not just my boyfriend, you are James’s friend in your own right. One of the lads.” 

“Nobody has ever called me a lad.” 

“Nobody has called James a lad either, but that’s never held him back.” He leans over the breakfast bar and kisses Remus. It was meant to be a quick peck on the lips, but he finds his lips lingering there softly for quite some time. “Please come. It will mean a lot to James and I won’t canoodle with you all weekend.” 

“Well now I know you’re lying. You’ve never managed to keep your hands to yourself for more than a couple of sentences.” His forehead furrows in thought. “Would I even fit on a canal boat?”

“Maybe not standing up, but we could just lie you down in the aisle and hope you don’t roll around too much.” 

Remus huffs a laugh. 

“Lily’s happy to come and house sit so we won’t need to worry about the beasties, and it’s only two nights. I’ll even let you drive the boat.”

“I think it’s imperative that I drive the boat. Your driving is dodgy enough as it is, without throwing a six pack into the mix.” 

“Six pack!? What sort of amateur do you think I am? I’m going to drink enough to make me forget about the ultimate betrayal of James getting married without giving me the opportunity to be his best man.” He grins cheekily. “In fact, fuck him. When we get married, I’m going to ask Marls instead. She has been waiting for an occasion to wear a full tuxedo for as long as I’ve known her.” 

Remus smiles, and it’s so warm and happy that Sirius’s heart squeezes. “When we what, sorry?”

“Oh behave yourself. I don’t mean _yet_. Just... one day.” 

Remus winks at him. “Well maybe when one day does arrive, James will be forgiven and you can have both of them.” 

“And Lily?” 

“I’m not sure you’re quite grasping the concept of a _best_ man.”

“Oh, but then I couldn’t leave Pete out. Best bunch of reprobates?” 

Remus laughs through his nose. “Why not, eh?”

“We’ll have so many people up there, there won’t be any need for a congregation.” 

“I don’t know,” Remus says sternly. “There’s no way I’m having Barry up there. He can have a seat at the back and tell everyone who will listen that there’s something not right about the whole thing. I can hear it now, can’t you?”

“Yes,” Sirius laughs giddily. “I absolutely can. Don’t worry, we’ll stick a muzzle on him or something. He’ll soon pipe down.” 

\--

“Sirius, would you calm down please? It feels really important that you calm down, otherwise you might get premature wrinkles on that lovely face of yours.” 

Sirius is on the sofa, stretched along its length with his face planted firmly into one of the cushions and an open magazine on top of his head in a bid to hide from the world. 

“Leave me alone, please. I can never look at you again.” 

Remus sighs and Sirius can feel the sofa sinking down as Remus takes his feet in his hands and sits down, plonking them in his lap. He runs a thumb over the arch of one of his socked feet. “Will you take the magazine off your head for a minute so we can talk about this?” 

Actually, Sirius is beginning to find it fairly difficult to breathe. So he lets Remus pick up the magazine, but he keeps his nose buried in the fabric where Remus can’t look him in the eye. 

“Don’t look at me.” 

“Okay.” Sirius can tell Remus is laughing, and he thinks that’s particularly cruel at this time of great strife. “Do you think maybe we should get some perspective on this situation, though? You farted.” 

Sirius lets out a muffled groan and gets a mouthful of cotton. 

“I’ve known you for a year and a half and you’ve only just done your first fart in front of me. That’s pretty good going. I was beginning to worry that you didn’t fart at all. Which wouldn’t be healthy.”

Sirius groans again. 

“These things happen, Sirius. I fart in front of you all the time.” 

“No you don’t!” 

“I do! Granted, they don’t smell like that, but--” 

Sirius blindly swats a hand in his direction, shoulders shaking with reluctant laughter. “It just came out.” 

“I know.” 

“You were tickling my feet and I’d been holding it in, and--” 

“I know, Sirius. Come on, love. It’s absolutely fine. Will you take your head out of the sofa please?” 

Sirius lifts his head up slowly and looks Remus square in the eye. “It will never happen again.” 

“Yes,” Remus says calmly. “Yes it will. And I’m not doing this every time, so you’d better get over it.” 

“Remus?” 

“Yes?”

“Next time you do a smelly fart, will you tell me please so I can have a whiff? I think that would make me feel better.” 

Remus just stares at him for a moment. “I don’t really know what to say to that.” His face creases with laughter. “I will try. Now, time for you to stop being so dramatic and put some clothes on. We’re meeting them in fifteen minutes and it’s a ten minute walk.” 

“Deal.” 

Sirius heaves himself off the sofa and wiggles his naked bottom (the offending article) in Remus’s direction. Remus steps towards him and puts a hand on each of his hips, standing behind him and kissing the curve of his neck. “When we get home,” he breathes hotly into his skin. “I think we should try out some of the stuff from the kinky box.” 

Sirius’s breath catches in his chest. The kinky box is a new addition to their shared home, filled up on a particularly amusing visit to Ann Summers with various different restraints, toys and items intended to make the most of the time they spend alone. Thus far, it has stayed neatly tucked under the bed, but Sirius has thought of little else since they brought it home, and now he’s naked in Remus’s embrace and the fact that he has brought up the kinky box when they don’t have time to use it feels like a travesty of epic proportions. 

“Shall we just cancel and we’ll raid the kinky box now? Marls would understand. She’s cancelled on me for that exact reason no fewer than three times.” 

Remus licks a stripe up his neck. “No. But I want you to think about it all evening. I want you to think about what you want me to do to you. And I promise not to disappoint.” 

“Sweet cheeks, you’ve never once disappointed me. I’m not sure you’re capable.” 

“That’s a lot of pressure,” Remus smiles shyly. “I can’t fucking wait.” 

Sirius wilfully ignores both of their erections and somehow makes it to the bedroom, putting on clothes (which feels like a tremendous shame) and daydreaming about the same clothes being ripped off him later on. They somehow make it out of the door and to the pub, fully clothed and only a couple of minutes late. 

Marlene and Dorcas have now been on five-and-a-half dates, and Sirius has it on good authority that they have had sex five-and-a-half times, so it seems to be going well. This is the first time they have all met as a tribe of four, and things feel very easy very quickly. Marlene has one hand on Dorcas’s knee, and it’s the only sign to any by-standers that the couples are paired up as they are, rather than the slightly more conventional pairing of Remus with Dorcas, and Marlene with him. Sirius has already let slip about the kinky box, and it’s prompted a lively discussion about sex toys. 

“Of course I have a vibrator. Her name is Shirley and she’s my best friend,” Marlene announces. “And then there are her friends Barbara and Cher.” She turns to Dorcas. “Cher is the one you have met.” 

Dorcas, seemingly unfazed, smiles a smile that shows all her teeth. “Oh yeah.” She shrugs. “Marlene’s kinky box is going to have to be upgraded to a full-on walk-in wardrobe at the rate she’s going.”

Marlene winks. “I aim to please.”

Sirius grins while Remus sits there, all red cheeked and stuttery. He knows he’s a big fan of the idea really. Deep down. But as a courtesy to him, he gets Dorcas talking about her work as a publisher, which steers them artfully away from the subject. 

And when they get home, the kinky box proves to be a resounding hit. Sirius surrenders himself to Remus’s brilliant hands and all of it is more than worth the wait. 

\--

Remus rings him at the end of the second day of the conference. That in itself isn’t concerning, but the waver in his voice sets Sirius on edge straight away.

“Hi,” Remus says shakily. “Sirius, hi.” 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing. Nothing at all.” 

“Remus.” 

“Nothing _bad_ ,” he says with less conviction. 

Sirius’s mind starts travelling a mile a minute. He doesn’t know what can have happened in such a short time to make Remus sound so dejected. He runs through every possible dreadful thing that could have happened, but none of it feels like it would stem from attendance of a mundane veterinary conference. 

“Rem--”

“I saw Will.” 

Sirius feels like he’s been punched. He waits for Remus to go on. Waits for what might follow. 

_I saw Will and I am still in love with him._

_I saw Will and we’re going to try and make it work._

_I saw Will and I realised--_

He schools himself to breathe as deeply as he possibly can. “Right,” he says. “You saw Will.” And then, because he cares more about Remus than he does anything else: “Are you okay?” 

“No,” Remus breathes heavily. “No, not really.” He hangs up. 

Sirius’s heart is hammering in his chest, and after calling Remus back twice with no answer, he thinks about just waiting for him to get in touch, leaving him to it. But it’s an option he only considers for a few seconds, before he fills Edna’s bowl, leaps in the car with Paddy and drops him with Lily and James. He is on the motorway before he knows what’s what. He feels, profoundly, that he is driving towards the inevitability of a heart that’s torn to shreds. 

But drive, he must. Because if there’s a chance he can see Remus, look him in the eye, and ask him to come home with him, then there’s a chance that he will. So he clings on, drives too fast, and bites his lip with grim determination, soldiering on towards his fate. 

He finds a multi-storey carpark near the venue and slides skilfully into a space that’s almost too small. He finds his way outside, blinking, into the rain and there are some people in the open, smoking, who look like they could be veterinarians, so he loiters, listening in. 

The group nearest to him is talking about lungs. Specifically, ferret lungs. So he thinks he’s found his crew. 

He sneaks into the conference room. It’s huge. The lights are low and there’s a buzz that indicates the delegates have moved onto the wine-fuelled part of the evening. He swipes a name badge from a table and attaches it to his shirt, finds the free wine and sets about doing some professional mingling. 

There is a woman named Rebecca with big hair who is grilling him about his preferred approach to treating chronic ear infections in dogs.

“Ah,” he says wisely. “Well, I think a conservative approach can be very effective (if there’s anything he’s learnt from listening to Remus’s little lectures, it’s that a conservative approach to most ailments can be very effective). 

She nods and it buys him another ten minutes of her chatter while he covertly scans the room. 

And then, a throat clears behind him. “Dr Black,” a deep, familiar voice says, and Sirius could cry with relief. “How are you?” 

Sirius turns and grins at him, then remembers why he felt the need to get in the car in the first place. “Remus,” he says gravely. “Let’s talk.” 

They find a dark corner together and Remus just looks at him for a moment. “You drove to Birmingham,” he says. 

“I drove to Birmingham.” 

Remus glances down at his badge which Sirius now realises reads ‘Dr Anwar Patel’. His mouth quirks up in the corner. 

“Remus,” Sirius says slowly, calling on all his resolve to try and get the words out. “You didn’t answer the phone when I called you back. And I’m really fucking terrified to ask you why.” 

Remus’s head hangs forward. He breathes in deeply. “I told you once that I used to have panic attacks. I don’t, now. Or at least I didn’t. But I saw Will, and we went out for a long lunch. And then I sat in lectures all afternoon just...” He looks at Sirius with big, pious eyes. “Just so lost.” 

“Right.” Sirius can feel his bottom lip wobbling. “Okay.”

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you. I hung up and I just couldn’t breathe. I’ve been freaking out for the last hour, locked in the loo. I was just coming out to ring you, and then I heard you, talking about weasel spleens. I’ve never been so pleased to see you in my life..”

Sirius swallows.

“And I know how this looks, telling you I’d seen my ex and then hanging up. I didn’t- I wasn’t thinking. God I’m so sorry.”

Remus’s eyes glisten with tears. And it strikes Sirius that he’s never seen him cry, yet. He’s not sure he ever wants to. 

“What happened?” Sirius asks gently.

Remus steps forward and lets Sirius wrap him in his arms. He’s breathing too quickly and he feels hot and feverish. “Honestly, nothing. We went for lunch. It was fine, once we cut through the inevitable awkwardness.” A tear tracks down his cheek and Sirius wipes it away with his thumb. “But it just brought a lot back for me, I think.” 

He looks at Sirius and shakes his head quickly. “Oh Sirius, I can’t believe I’ve put that look on your face. It didn’t bring back any feelings I had for him, that’s not what I meant. Oh God, is that what you think?” His eyes are flitting around and there are beads of sweat on his forehead. 

“Remus, I think we should go and sit down, somewhere quiet. Is there somewhere we can go?”

“Hotel room,” he says quietly. 

They find their way upstairs, and the journey there seems to have given Remus a chance to compose himself, at least a bit. He sits on the edge of the bed and Sirius stays standing, rocking back and forth on his feet. 

“I don’t really know how to explain,” Remus says quietly. “I thought I would marry him. Back then. I thought we had built this life together that would withstand anything.” He gazes up at Sirius. “This is going to sound weird, but I’m glad I got ill.” 

“Don’t say that.” Sirius thinks of Remus when he’s sick, all pale and pained, and it’s not something he would wish on his worst enemy. 

“No, on some level, I am. I’m glad that there was some adversity to make him question everything. Because if not then, something else would have happened and he’d have bolted. But it could have been years, couldn’t it? Better that we hadn’t opened the practice, better that we weren’t married. Better that the heartbreak was at a level I could just about cope with.” 

“It doesn’t look like you’re coping,” Sirius says gently. 

“I am,” Remus nods unconvincingly. “I have. But seeing him today was so fucking weird. His mannerisms are the same, and they’re mannerisms that I used to love. His voice is just the same and it’s a voice that is still so familiar to me. I thought it would be fine, but it wasn’t. It wasn’t fine. It reminded me how easily I fell in love with him, and how little he hesitated to take it all away.” 

Sirius sits down on the bed. He takes Remus’s hand and laces their fingers together on his lap. And he knows, now, what this is all about. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Sirius says, and it’s the whole truth. “You deserve all the love, Remus. All of it and then some. I’m not going anywhere.” 

Remus starts crying again and Sirius wrestles him to the bed, kissing the tears from his face. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

Remus smiles and sniffs a little. “I love you even more than I ever loved him,” he says eventually. 

“And that makes me the luckiest motherfucker in the world,” Sirius says into Remus’s hair. “I’ve never been so happy in my whole life. I love you so bloody much.” 

Remus sniffs and laughs softly. “You drove to Birmingham,” he says softly, and then he’s crying again. 

“Well of course I fucking did! I thought I was coming here to reason with you; to ask you not to leave me for him.” 

Remus shakes his head sadly. “I’m sorry.” He kisses Sirius’s forehead. “I’m so sorry.” 

\--

An hour later, they have both showered, put on fresh shirts, and they’re walking down to the hotel bar, away from the party of other vets.

“You know,” Remus says quietly. “Before the fateful lunch, I’d really been enjoying myself. It sort of made me want to take the plunge and set up on my own.” 

Sirius grins at him. “You mean open up your own practice?” 

“Yes. I mean, my health is the best it’s been for ages. And I really like the thought of setting up a sort of diagnostic centre of excellence, get all the best equipment--”

“You could have a big waiting room with art on the walls and a separate space for dogs and cats to keep everyone nice and calm.” 

“Yes, exactly! I could poach Charlotte and hire another vet so that they can pick up the slack if I’m ever unwell.” 

Sirius’s face twists. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you about this. I’m looking for an investment opportunity. Something to do with the egg money that’s a bit more exciting than just having it in the bank for a rainy day. If you want to set up a practice, I’d like to go in on it with you. Be your backer.”

Remus looks at him for a long while, trying to figure out whether he’s joking. “I can’t take the money.” 

“It’s not really about taking anything. I’d be a partner in the business. And granted, I wouldn’t be involved in the everyday running of the surgery, but I’d be there in an advisory capacity. That degree has to come in handy for something.” 

Remus looks at him incredulously. 

“This isn’t about charity, Remus. It’s a business opportunity. I know you’ve been burned before, but if it happens again, I hope you know that it won’t be me doing the burning.” 

“I don’t--” 

“Don’t answer now. We can do lots more talking about it before you make up your mind. And if it’s a no, I’ll accept that. You’ll have good reasons, I’m sure. But please do give it some thought. And in the meantime, we’re in a posh hotel with Belgian beer on tap and an open bar. It really feels like we should be taking full advantage of this enviable situation in which we find ourselves. Or we could see if we can find that Aussie bar and get you your very own koala?”

“Hotel bar sounds good.” 

“Is Will going to be around?” 

“He might be. Is that okay? We can go elsewhere?” 

“No, it’s fine,” Sirius smiles, confidence rebuilt. “You can show me off. Want me to go and change into something tighter?” 

“Is that possible?” Remus jabs him in the side then looks over at the bar. “Oh, great. That’s him.”

Sirius turns to where he’s looking. “Oh shit. That’s not how I pictured him at all! You definitely like a pretty boy, eh?”

Remus sniggers. 

“Did you two ever dress up in your scrubs and role play? Actually, don’t answer that. I don’t want to know. Is his penis nicer than mine? Wait, no, that’s ridiculous. Nobody’s penis is nicer than mine. He has quite a smarmy look on his face. Want me to seduce him and lock him out on the balcony in the nuddy pants just like that Destiny’s Child video so he gets his comeuppance?” 

“Are you quite finished?” Remus says, eyes dancing with mirth. 

“Shit, he’s coming over. Play it cool.”

Remus looks him in the eye and takes his hand urgently. “Sirius Black, please know that you have nothing to worry about.” 

Sirius breathes out slowly. “Yeah,” he says. “I know.” 

Will makes his way over to them carrying three beers and handing them out, smiling coolly. “Hi there,” he says in a low baritone. He stretches out a hand. “We haven’t met.” 

“Sorry, how rude of me,” Remus says calmly. “Will, this is my boyfriend, Dr Anwar Patel.” 

\--

They meet a man named Sid on an industrial estate somewhere north of Leamington Spa. He has the keys to the canal boat, which is near another industrial estate, even further north. Sirius and Remus have arrived early to get everything sorted, and to leave plenty of time for decorating the boat, in a completely tasteful way, of course. 

“I thought these were hen do decorations,” Remus says while inspecting a huge, inflatable cock that he’s just blown up. 

“Well. Yes, technically. But who doesn’t love inflatable penises? James loves them maybe more than anyone. And vaginas just aren’t quite so comical are they?” 

“You might have a point there. There’s something really quite menacing about a boat full of inflated vulvas.” 

“Perish the thought. We will make it lovely and gay for our best boy.” 

Remus’s shoulders shake with laughter and he shoots Sirius with a smile that makes his knees weak. “I was right, you know. I definitely don’t fit on a canal boat.” 

“I told you, you need to lie in the aisle.” 

Remus waggles his eyebrows and lowers himself to lie prostrate on the cold, hard, wooden floor that smells of varnish and the lingering scent of vomit from stag dos that have gone before. His feet don’t fit in the gap so he lifts them up in the air and makes eyes at Sirius. “I don’t even fit lying down. This is a travesty.” 

“We’ll just have to slot you into the toilet tonight and you can sleep sitting up.” 

“And chance Peter, the self titled ‘chunder king’ vomiting into my lap? No thank you. I’ll curl up in a little ball and hope for the best.”

“You’re a very wise man.” Sirius walks over to him and lowers himself so that he’s straddling him. He takes his face in his hands and runs his thumbs over his eyebrows. “You’re so fucking yummy. You know, I’ve never done it on a boat.” 

Remus’s lips slide into a slow, sexy smile. “They’ll be here any minute.”

Sirius moves his bum to skirt over the outline of Remus’s hardening dick. “So? 

Remus moans softly. “So I’m putting my foot down and saying that while the day may come where there will be fantastic, ridiculous, crazy good boat sex, it is not this day.” He wriggles underneath him. “Now come on. We need to finish blowing up the penises.” 

Sirius pouts and slides off Remus just in time for James to step aboard. He looks around and fixes Remus with a suspicious look. “Trousers on, please, Lupin. This isn’t that sort of stag do.”

Remus groans and lifts himself up off the floor. Stood up, he has to tilt his head to one side so that it doesn’t touch the ceiling. “I think I need a beer,” he grumbles. 

James snorts and shoves a full crate in his arms. “Here to service your needs.” 

Peter and Marlene climb onto the boat after him, and it’s a cosy fit once they’re all inside. 

Sirius stands and cracks open a beer. “Right, then. Some house rules before we embark on our epic voyage. Firstly, I ask that the toilet is used for little jobs only. No big jobs unless there is an absolute, can’t avoid it-style emergency. I’m looking at you, Marls. There will be plenty of pubs enroute whose toilets we can stink out instead.”

“Rule number two is a self-imposed one to protect the integrity of the stag do process: no canoodling with Remus. Remus shall not, under any circumstances, be the subject of any canoodling. I will keep my horny hands to myself and ask that you do likewise.” 

“Thirdly, and perhaps most importantly, I ask you to remember that there is a very important secondary quest for us to complete. We are more than half way through the year, and at the moment, it’s looking an awful lot like Peter is heading towards a Christmas Eve naked scamper. But your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to take steps to stop this from happening. Mission Big Pete Lady Meet is go.”

“Big Pete Lady Meet,” Marlene repeats, groaning. “Where do you come up with these things?” 

“Squeeze them right out of my brain meat,” Sirius grins. “Thank you for asking. Right, then. Where shall we go?” 

Remus has brought a map with him and he mildly suggests that they should head over to Leamington, then park up for the night and frequent some drinking establishments. “It should take us a couple of hours, so we’ll get there in the light,” he says, tucking the map back into his pocket. “I’ll take the first stint, shall I?” 

Sirius wants to go with him and watch him drive the boat, but he figures that it would be very difficult to adhere to the canoodle clause while Remus’s bare arms are doing something manly with a crank shaft - probably. He has no idea how canal boats work, or what a crank shaft is - so he sticks with his crewmates and takes responsibility for keeping everyone fed (party rings) and watered (beer from Aldi). 

James takes a big glug of beer then burps appreciatively. “Hey, did you guys hear about that guy in Namibia called Adolf Hitler? He’s won some local election or something, but he’s assured everyone that he has no plans for world domination.” 

“Oh, well that’s reassuring,” Marlene laughs. “How did he come to be called Adolf Hitler? Like, surely his parents knew?”

“Apparently Adolf is quite a common name there. It used to be a German colony. Hitler’s his middle name.” 

“Right, well this is all very upsetting. Can we talk about something more cheery? Mr Namibia here has got me all depressed.” 

“I’ve been reading,” Sirius says quickly. “About these insane new satellites China are sending up into space. They have cameras that are so accurate, they can see things that are really tiny. They could probably zone in on a mouse’s arsehole.” 

“That’s very evocative, thank you,” Marlene deadpans.

“Shall we put some music on? Jimmy, what do you have on your phone?”

“James is not known for his excellent taste in music,” Peter says diplomatically. 

“I don’t know, Pete. The Enya/Britney mashup has gone down in infamy,” Sirius points out.

James pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Let’s see. I have... well, there’s a lot of Little Mix, to be honest. Oh, here we go. Ultimate Party Classics. Let’s do this thing.” He presses a button and the sound of Candi Staton fills the room. 

Sirius takes that as his cue to go and see how Remus is doing. The boat kicked into life some time ago, and now there is a gentle hum and a bobbing up and down which shows that they are moving, slowly but surely, towards their destination. He opens the door and just watches for a moment. Remus looks particularly at ease as he lazily steers the boat with one hand and holds a beer in the other. He spots him and beckons him over. 

“Hi there,” Sirius says. “You look very lovely, Cap’n. We just need to get you a stripey t-shirt and some sort of hat, and you’ll be the real deal.” He looks at Remus’s forearms for a minute. “Do you think they’ll know if I sneak a kiss?” 

Remus laughs and looks at his watch. “Half an hour. You are ready to break one of the rules after half an hour. I’m not sure why I thought you’d have more resolve.”

Sirius grins and steps forward to kiss him, hard. “You’re so fit, Re. You’re just supremely shaggable. So that’s on you, really.”

Remus smiles and dimples appear in his cheeks. Sirius wants to kiss them, but he thinks that would definitely be classed as canoodling, and James would never let him hear the end of it. 

“Shall we get a boat?” Remus asks him. He pulls Sirius close and lets him steer for a while, standing behind him with a hand placed firmly on his hip. “I mean sure, we can set up a business, but will it bring us as much pleasure as a boat?” 

“Remus, I hate to break it to you, but this boat is really very dull. We are moving more slowly than we could walk.” 

Remus kisses him on the shoulder. “It’s all about the journey,” he says mysteriously. “And having sexy crewmates.” 

“Pete doesn’t feel that way about you. I don’t mean to be harsh but he told me himself.” 

“Oh ha ha,” Remus spanks him lightly on the bum. “Right, go away before you crash us into one of those bushes.” 

“What bushes?” 

They crash into the bushes and there’s an indignant cry from the people within. Sirius barks a laugh and scampers back inside while Remus huffs at him about not looking where he’s going.

“What the fuck was that?” James asks, glasses askew on his face. 

“Remus let me drive,” Sirius admits.

“Oh. Yeah, that makes perfect sense.” 

“He says it’s about an hour until we get there. Shall we play a game or something? How about Balls of Fury?” 

\--

They moor ahead of time and head out on the town. There are shots and cocktails, and for the first time ever, Sirius sees Remus drunk. There’s something hilariously compelling about seeing a man with such dignity and poise turn into something so floppy and tactile and sweet.

He gets talking to some girls at the bar and Sirius sidles up to join him, sliding a hand around his waist (which is just as much about helping him stay upright as it is Sirius wanting to touch his boyfriend). Remus is explaining about Sid the boat man, and how he thinks maybe he could help him and Sirius to acquire a boat. “It would have to be a tall one, though,” he says wisely. “Really tall. Tall like a t-rex.” 

“Wait,” one of the girls says. “Are you talking about Sid from the Hoo industrial estate? Yeah, my dad knows him.”

“Yes!” Remus exclaims loudly. “His name is Sid Wall. Which I think is brilliant. It makes me want to have a more functional name. Like... Remus Brick.” 

The girl nods politely. “Sid’s the one who did twelve years for smuggling heroin.” 

“No!” Remus shakes his head violently. “Oh no! Not my Sid. How am I meant to get a boat now?” He turns to Sirius. “Babe, how am I meant to get a boat now?”

Sirius giggles. “You have literally never called me babe.” He tugs gently at his waist. “Shall we go and find James? Last I saw him, he’d bought an entire bottle of vodka with gold flakes in, so I think he might be getting messy.” 

Remus grins. “Yes. Yes, Sirius, let’s go and find him. I love him. And I love you.” He grabs both of Sirius’s shoulders. “This is the greatest stag do there has ever been.” 

“Good.” 

“Sirius?”

“Yes?

“Will there be chicken? I feel like there should be chicken.”

“Yes, my darling man friend. There will definitely be chicken. But first, we need to find the groom.” 

\--

“You’re such a snugglemuffin,” Remus proclaims, and kisses Sirius on the nose as they walk to the establishment which supposedly does the best chicken in town. “It’s called Lick Your Finger,” Remus explains, and then he laughs like a drain, pulling Sirius into his side and stumbling slightly. 

“This is brilliant,” James laughs. “I didn’t think it was possible to get Remus rat-arsed. He’s so massive.”

“Apparently it is.” 

“But he’s so massive!” 

Peter sniggers. “As a five foot eight year old male, I would like it noted that I have handled my booze impressively well tonight.” 

“A five foot, eight year old male?” Marlene cackles. “Whatever you say, Pete.” 

Marlene is the first to vomit in the toilet when they get back to the boat. Sirius takes it upon himself to sort her out. He hammers on the door. “Marls, let me in!”

“Not by the hairs on my chinny chin chin! I will not let you in.” 

“You don’t have any hairs on your chinny chin chin.” 

“I will not let you in!” 

“Oh for fuck’s s- Marlene, I would like to help you. Will you let me help you?” 

The door swings open and Marlene is on her knees, cuddling the toilet. “If you tell Dorcas about this, you’re a dead man.” 

“What do you take me for?” 

“Traitor.” 

“Sorry?” 

“Ne’er-do-well.” 

“What is happening?”

“I’ve started missing out superfluous words.”

“Right. Well, I can see the appeal of the efficiency of that approach.” He strokes her hair. “How are you doing?” 

“I think I’m ready for some wine.” 

He sighs. “Well, then. Brush your teeth and I’ll see you back out there.” 

Sirius feels remarkably sober. Definitely too sober for the conversation that greets him when he heads back into the cabin, where James is teaching Remus about anal bleaching. 

“You mean, it’s not just the hair, it’s the actual skin?” 

“Yes.” 

“But what’s so bad about an unbleached anus? I don’t understand this one at all, I’m afraid. You youngsters are going to have to enlighten me. As it were.” He chortles.

Sirius takes a deep breath and sits down. “There is nothing bad about an unbleached anus. Shall we talk about something else?” 

Peter thinks about this. “I don’t think anyone has a white arsehole naturally.” 

“They don’t!” Marlene bursts out of the toilet. “I’ve come back to life! They don’t! This is all just another ploy to convince women to spend money on the pursuit of a mythical perfection that’s perpetuated by the endless curse of ubiquitous pornography.” 

“God,” Sirius shakes his head. “Can we please move on? Who would like a beer?” 

“I think if I have another one, I’ll join Marlene in vom town,” Peter whinges. 

“I’ll have one,” Remus nods, seemingly a little more sober than he was an hour ago. 

“And me!” Marlene and James chirp at the same time. 

They end up playing a game where they have to drink out of the reverse side of the bottle, and Sirius’s victory is an emphatic one, given that the rest of them left their faculties behind several hours before. 

He knows it’s time to get everyone to bed when Remus and Marlene start singing Meatloaf songs and the sun creeps up in the sky. Remus curls around him in a bed as wide as Paddy’s and snores softly into his neck for hours and hours.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, and happy new year! Thank you so much if you've stuck with me. I'm honestly so happy every time I get a comment, and you're all wonderful. The next chapter will be the last one :)

Sirius is cold. He’s hungry and grumpy, and he wants to go for a beer. But even in his sub-par state, he knows this isn’t about him, so he trudges down the road, holding Remus’s hand like a consolation prize, and slaps a neutral look on his face while artfully navigating an obstacle course of puddles. 

So far, they have seen seven prospective premises for their business, and none of them have been right. This one is in the best area, but Remus isn’t sure whether it will be roomy enough. Sirius has his fingers crossed in his coat pocket as the estate agent opens up and shows them around. 

The building is light and airy, and straight away, Sirius can picture it as Remus’s practice. He can conjure an image of the reception area, the treatment rooms, can see where the cages would go and where the dispensary would best sit. And it’s not too small at all, it’s actually pretty perfect. 

They exchange a look. 

“It’s been empty a while,” the agent says. “Owners are desperate for a quick sale now. What is it you would be looking to do with it?” 

“A vets’ practice,” Sirius explains, smiling. “Remus here is setting up on his own.”

“Oh, marvellous. I think it would suit that purpose well, don’t you?” 

“Yes,” Remus says. “Yes, I daresay it would.” 

After, they go for a drink to ‘mull it over’, but just a few sips in, they have decided that it’s the one. 

“Now I just need to work out how to sell a Fabergé egg,” Sirius says ominously. 

“No black market stuff, we’ll go to a proper auction house.” 

“You’re no fun.” He takes a sip. “Gladys is very excited, by the way. She thinks you’ll be a good businessman. Think she was a bit worried I’d spend it all on lap dances and cocaine.” 

“Can you get a lap dance from a man?”

“Well, I assume so. There’s no good reason that only women can bump and grind, but I’ll admit I’ve never met a go-go dancer with a dick.” 

“How many go-go dancers have you met without a dick?” 

“To talk to? Three or four. All very lovely.” 

Remus rolls his eyes fondly. “So, what are we going to call it?” 

Sirius thinks about it. “You could go classic with something like the RJ Lupin veterinary surgery.”

“Feels a bit narcissistic.” 

“Or something cheesy like Sunny Meadow vets.” 

“That sounds like a nursing home.” 

Sirius bites his lip and nods. “We’ll work it out.” 

Right on time, Charlotte walks in and spots them, waving. Remus points to the spare glass of wine on the table which he got in for her and she smiles, heading over to greet them. 

“Hi, both! God, it’s cold out there, isn’t it?” She parks herself down between them. “Thanks for the wine. Pink wine is the best wine. Fact.” 

Remus smiles broadly and she looks at him with ill-disguised suspicion. “Are you going to tell me why I’m here drinking pink wine, or shall we just pretend this is a weekly occurrence and there’s nothing strange going on at all?” 

“We’ll cut to the chase,” Remus nods. “It’s top secret, though, and I need you to promise that what I’m about to tell you stays between us for the time being.” 

“Of course,” she says, interest visibly piquing. “Unless you’re asking me to help you dispose of a body. I like you, Remus, but even I have my limits.”

“I’m setting up a new veterinary surgery,” he explains. “Sirius and I are setting it up, that is. We’ve just found the premises, not far from here, and they’re ideal.” He smiles shyly. “I’ll need a vet nurse. And you’re my first choice.” 

She nods once. “I’m in.” 

Remus’s face scrunches up in surprise. “I haven’t given you the details yet!” 

She looks at him, shaking her head. “Remus, you’re the best bit of my working day. Why on earth would I want to stay there without you? And I assume you _want_ me to say yes, so please don’t try and talk me out of it. I’m in.”

Sirius grins at both of them and a frisson of excitement runs through him. Today’s events have made everything feel much more real, and the prospect of their new venture feels altogether much closer to their grasp. 

He honestly can’t wait.

\--

Sirius has managed to light and maintain his first log fire. Marlene’s art hangs proudly above the fireplace and it looks so much better here than it ever did in his bedroom. He’s lit candles and bought baubles and he’s wearing a Christmas hat with a bell that jingles every time he moves. 

Even better, the speakers are blasting nothing but the crème de la crème of Christmas songs.

_Hey Mr Churchill comes over here to say we’re doing splendidly. But it’s very cold out here in the snow marching to and from the enemy._

_Oh I say it’s tough, I have had enough. Can you stop the cavalry?_

The trumpets kick in and he parades about the lounge merrily, picking up Edna and outright ignoring her look of disgust as he dances with her in the lounge. 

Remus walks in and watches, dismayed for a beat, looks at the tinsel strewn across the floor, looks at the baubles scattered around. “What on earth are you doing?” 

Sirius laughs maniacally. “We’re making the yuletide gay, Remus.” 

Remus arches an eyebrow. “The yuletide already looks pretty gay from where I’m standing.” 

Sirius lets the cat down and runs his eyes over Remus’s torso. He’s wearing a tight, white t-shirt and he looks particularly lithe and healthy. “I think the yuletide could be a little bit gayer if you took your top off.” 

“Oh?” 

“Yes. And it could be gayer still if you got down on your knees and sucked me off.” 

Remus chuckles and looks down at his feet. “My knees are a bit sore today. I can offer you a sofa-based blowjob?” 

“Go on then, you smooth talking bastard.” 

Remus, unsmiling, walks up to him, kisses him hot and hard. “Actually,” he says gruffly. “Will you fuck me?”

“Oh,” Sirius breathes heavily between them. “As in..? We don’t--” 

“I know. I know we don’t. But I just... I don’t know, I had a shitty day and I want to feel you close to me... inside me.”

Sirius gulps and nods. 

“We don’t have to if you don’t--” 

“Stop. There is no need to finish that sentence. I would love to give you a jolly rogering.” He scans Remus’s eyes and sees no sign of hesitation, just pure want. 

And Remus has a face on him which indicates that he might be in the mood for some rough, fast sex, but Sirius can’t bring himself to do it, even though he loves it that way in return. Instead, when he gets Remus upstairs, he’s careful, slow and sensual, spending probably far too long on foreplay, but relishing the little gasps and sighs he makes at the sensation of Sirius’s deft hands and mouth all over him. 

“Sirius,” he pants, as Sirius works him open with fingers, and then with a favourite little toy of Sirius’s from the kinky box. “Sirius, enough.” His voice is ragged and he reaches out to him with hot hands, pressing their sweaty chests together and tilting his hips upwards desperately. “Enough now. Fuck me.” 

Sirius is rock hard and he presses inside him, squeezing his eyes shut at the noises he’s making, almost losing his cool at the sensation of Remus, tight and warm around him. He moves slowly, rocking back and forth, biting at Remus’s shoulder, sucking at his neck. 

Remus grunts and takes matters into his own hands, scrambling onto all fours, loudly voicing his encouragement when Sirius slides back inside him from behind, snapping his hips back and forth. Remus ups the pace, pulling Sirius forward so that he slams into him hard. Sirius wraps a hand tightly around his swollen dick and lets Remus fuck into his closed fist, running a thumb along the sensitive underside, just how he’s seen Remus do it when he’s jerking himself off. 

Remus comes with a cry, and Sirius licks the hot liquid from his hand, jerking his hips once, twice more, and giving into a blissfully big orgasm before collapsing on top of Remus, labouring to breathe for a few long moments. 

After, they both fall asleep. It’s only twenty minutes but it feels like a reset, and when Sirius wakes up, Remus looks altogether more relaxed. 

“Hello, sleepy,” he says into the air between them. “Did you enjoy that?” 

“What, you couldn’t tell? Yes, I enjoyed it. Did you?” 

Remus nods, slowly. “It was fucking lovely. Is that how good it is for you all the time?”

Sirius barks a laugh. “Sure is. I can learn to share, though, if you’ve had some sort of revelation.” 

Remus shakes his head, smiling. “I like what we do. But that made a nice change.”

Happiness wells up in Sirius’s chest. “You said your knees are sore. Anything to worry about?”

“I think it’s just the usual. The bike ride yesterday messed me up a bit.” 

“Well, you need to rest. I’m not sure getting fucked on your hands and knees counts as proper respite, Remus. Have you had clearance from Dr Sarah for such activities?” 

Remus looks a little guilty then. “I mean, not specifically. But she hasn’t cited it as a no no, so I think she’s heavily implied that I should do it as much as possible.” His forehead wrinkles in thought. “I think you’re a bad influence on me.” 

Sirius breathes out a little laugh. “That’s hogwash. I think you were always a bit depraved, you just needed someone to help bring it out.”

“That was my Tinder bio,” Remus quips. 

Sirius strokes a thumb over Remus’s collarbone, shaking with laughter. “Please tell me you’re not joking and you were actually on Tinder?” 

“No comment.” 

Sirius’s eyes widen and he searches Remus’s face. He’s learnt to read it now, and it turns out he was never really a closed book after all. He was an open book written in language that was slightly foreign, that Sirius had to commit hours to learning, complicated grammar and all. But now he finds that reading Remus is innate, and Sirius gets a thrill from the thought that he’s maybe the only person to have learnt this brilliant, sacred language by heart. 

“You totally were! Did you go on any dates?”

Remus rolls his eyes, resigned. “One. His name was Blake and he was a dentist. Snogged like one, too.” 

Sirius burrows into Remus’s neck. “Was he the one that got away?” 

“Alas, he was not. Made a good carbonara, though.”

“Well, that’s something,” Sirius nods, mouth tilting up at the side. “Hey, look at me a sec.” He kisses the side of his head and sighs contentedly. “Do you want to tell me why it was such a bad day?”

“I handed my notice in. It didn’t go all that well. I think I’m really leaving them in the lurch.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that! You have to be selfish in life, Remus. This is about your next chapter, and there’s no need to feel guilty about any of it. Besides, we can be flexible about when your last day is, can’t we? The practice won’t be ready for at least a couple of months, and we’ve got so much to get sorted. Realistically, I don’t think we’ll be opening until spring.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. It’s just that they’ve been so brilliant about my illness, and now I’ve just gone and--” 

“Fulfilled a long-term life goal. Ain’t no shame in that.” 

“No,” Remus nods. “No, I suppose.” 

And there’s something in his expression that is oh so familiar to Sirius; the feeling that happiness is something he doesn’t quite deserve, or that he’s used up his quota somehow and he can’t possibly qualify for more. 

So he tells him he deserves it. He tells him twice, and he plans on doing so at least once a day until some of it starts sinking into that brilliant, stubborn mind of his. 

\--

You don’t tell me much,” Remus says pensively one evening as Christmas closes in, and it feels like he’s been thinking about this for a while. “About your family. I know they’re not in the picture. I know you don’t wish they were. But there are some gaps in my knowledge, and I just want you to know that you can confide in me, you know? You don’t always have to be dazzling and happy and perfectly coiffed.” 

Sirius has, on some level, been expecting this. And there’s no reason he’s been holding any of it back; only the knowledge that it will ruin a perfectly good evening that could be spent doing things that are a touch more enjoyable. He nods and sighs, resigned, finds an A3 piece of paper and he sets about drawing the family tree. “Right, so we’ve got me, obviously, and Reggie. Then mother dearest, Walburga, and her delightful husband Orion.”

He’s rather pleased with the caricatures brought to life on the paper and takes a moment to admire his work. 

“Are the devil horns attached or can he take them off for social gatherings?”

“Attached. It’s why he wears so many hats.” 

“And why do you have three arms?” 

“Remus, I beseech you. Please concentrate. That’s not my arm, it’s my great big schlong. Obviously.” 

“Obviously,” Remus nods, amused. 

“Over here, we have the cousins: Bellatrix, Andi, and Narcissa. They’re the spawn of darling uncle Cygnus and Aunty Druella.” 

“No horns for Andi?”

“No, she’s sound. We like her.” 

“Does Bellatrix have a tail for a reason?” 

“Oho! I’m glad you ask. Yes. Yes, she does. She is Satan. Even twixt a family that’s objectively very evil, she takes the biscuit.”

“Wow. Okay, sure.” 

By the time Sirius has finished, the family tree stretches over three pages and Remus is well versed in the twists and turns of the clan’s barbed history.

“So cousins just... marry each other in your family, hmm?” He runs a thumb over the back of Sirius’s neck as he stands over him and admires his work. 

“Yes. I think it’s why my toes are a little bit webbed. Otherwise, I seem to have emerged relatively unscathed.” 

Remus laughs through his nose and takes a couple of beers from the fridge. “So if I’ve got this right, there are four non-evil Blacks. You, Regulus, Andi and Alphard.” 

“Yes, but Alphard has now died. I may not particularly be in the loop these days, but Alphard has definitely died.” 

“Okay.” He slides a beer across the table for Sirius. “So, it’s Andi and Regulus we’re inviting to wine and cheese night in the new year, then?”

Sirius feels the blood drain from his face. “Oh. I--” 

Remus’s hands are on his shoulders and he’s gently massaging the tense muscle there with those brilliant fingers. “We don’t have to.”

“No, I know. Just... there are some things I haven’t told you about my family; my parents, especially. So if we’re going to see some of them, you should probably know.” Remus’s hands still on his shoulders, but stay there; a comforting warm weight that gives Sirius the courage to carry on. “They weren’t just, you know, dickheads. They were really abusive; physically, emotionally. It took me a while to figure it out because I just sort of thought everyone’s parents knocked them about a bit, or punished their insubordination by holding back food.” He looks at Remus and suddenly all he feels is tired. “I don’t really want to go into all the gory details, but you’ll see that Regulus and Andi are sort of weirdly protective of me. And that’s why.” 

Remus is quiet for a long time. “I did wonder,” he says eventually. “But I wanted you to be able to tell me in your own time. I don’t... if we invite them, are we dredging all of that up for you?” 

“Inevitably a bit, yes,” Sirius nods. “But that’s okay. I’d like for you to meet them.”

Remus nods, and for a moment, he just stares at the table looking desperately sad. “Can I ask you something?” 

“Mm?” 

“What’s that scar on your thigh?” 

“Oh.” Sirius flicks his eyes to focus on Remus. “She kicked me with a stiletto, sliced my leg right open. I had to have stitches and... she just sat there and let me tell the doctor that I slipped while I was climbing a tree.” 

Remus bites his lip and hangs his head. “And the reason you can’t sleep?”

“She used to lock me in the cellar in the dark, overnight sometimes. I think I have just grown up with a bit of a strained relationship with the night time because of it. I still have some weird dreams, scary dreams, and sometimes it’s just easier to stay awake. I’m not great with confined spaces, either, but the counselling has helped. And I’m doing better, aren’t I?”

He looks at Remus and isn’t quite prepared for the expression of outright horror on his lovely face. 

“It’s okay,” Sirius says gently, not wanting to upset him further. “Come on, don’t look so sad. Fuck them. You’re all the family I need.”

Remus pulls him up out of his seat and wraps him up gently. He’s shaking, just a bit. “I’ve never felt so angry in my life,” he whispers. “I’ve never hated someone I haven’t met. I’ve never wanted to hurt someone before.” 

Sirius laughs helplessly. “Down, boy. Shall we just drink this beer and go for a big walk or something?” 

Remus breathes in deeply, nose buried in Sirius’s hair. “Thank you for telling me.”

“Well, yeah,” Sirius shrugs. “I’ll tell you anything, you know that.” 

Remus kisses his hair, like he’s struggling a bit to let him go. “Fuck,” he says quietly. “I can’t make up for any of it. I know that. But I--”

Sirius huffs a laugh. “Are you kidding me? You do more than enough.” 

“Does anyone else know?” 

“James. Lily, probably, although she’s never said anything. James used to try to stop me going home during the school holidays because he knew what a warm welcome I would have.” 

Remus gives him a bit of space and runs his hands briskly up and down his arms, mouth turned downwards. “What about Regulus? Did they do the same to him?” 

“To a lesser extent. He was much better at staying in line, doing what was expected of him. They still fucked him up pretty badly, but he sensibly got some professional help much sooner.” 

Remus lifts Sirius’s hand up and kisses the pulsepoint of his wrist. “When you’re fifteen, you’re meant to rebel,” he says, and he scrunches his nose up. “What could you have possibly done that was so bad?” 

“On reflection, nothing. As an adult, I realise that. I put up a few posters of scantily clad women, swore like a trooper, got a tattoo. I didn’t actually do anything all that radical, but there was something in my eyes that my mother didn’t like. That’s what she used to say. That I was giving her attitude with my eyes.” 

Remus bows his head again. “Your sassy eyes are one of the best things about you.” 

“Not very submissive, though, are they? That’s the problem. I wore my emotions so plainly, for anyone to see. It’s the reason James took a liking to me, took me under his wing, and the reason my mum despises me with all the zeal she’s got.”

“It’s one of the reasons I fell in love with you,” Remus supplies. “I’ll never forget you coming into the practice for the first time. Your eyes were as big as saucers, and you were just so completely invested in this dog you’d only just found. I’d never wanted an animal to pull through so much in my whole career.”

Sirius gives him a little, soft smile.

“I knew straight away,” Remus nods. “As soon as you walked in. That’s weird, isn’t it? You were in your work clothes, all smart, and your hair was a mess, and you bustled in like this _whirlwind_. Then you looked at me and I was done for.” 

Sirius’s face screws up in thought, because this is at odds with the way he remembers their first interactions. “But you said you didn’t like me immediately? You thought I was a bit of a knob?”

Remus sighs. “Honestly? I took one look at you and thought ‘this guy will break me’. And I just resigned myself to it. There was no way I was going to work out how to play it cool with you.”

“Now _that_ is a big fat lie. You were cooler than cool! I had absolutely no idea where I stood! I didn’t even know if you were queer. You gave me absolutely nothing.” He laughs incredulously. “Until you did.” 

There is a pregnant silence that fills the room and Remus takes a big swig of beer. 

Sirius barrels on. “I was totally besotted and it felt like you’d barely even noticed me. I was completely at your mercy, waiting for signs from you that you were into it.” 

Remus shakes his head slowly. “I noticed every little thing,” he says, and Sirius nods mutely. “I noticed the exact shape of your cheekbones, and your lovely laugh. I noticed the way you told stories and put your whole body into getting your point across. I noticed that look of grim determination on your face when you convinced me into putting my all into treating Paddy.” 

Sirius grins lopsidedly.

“I noticed everything,” Remus repeats. “And very quickly, there was no going back. I’m fairly sure I gave you some pretty heavy hints. I mean, we definitely went on a few dates. The wine bar, the day in the garden--” 

“Oh alright,” Sirius smiles. “But you could have just sort of dropped into conversation that you liked blokes. I was so sure I was going to make a massive fool of myself. Mandy told me you came into the surgery early just to see me. Is that right? Because I came in early to see you.”

Remus lets out a little laugh. “You are probably the only thing that has ever been able to entice me to getting up before six-thirty.”

Sirius is pleased with this and nods, thinking. 

“You were my favourite customer,” Remus says frankly. 

“And you were my favourite vet.” 

“ _Only_ vet.” 

“Well yes, but you were the best bit of the day, all fussy and academic and shirt-clad. Even before I realised I liked you, I was pretty obsessed. I liked you a great deal better than Hannah. You told me off less.” 

Remus combs a hand through Sirius’s hair, smiling. “And now here we are.”

“Here we are.” Sirius reaches out for Remus’s hand and they sit in a happy silence, broken only when Paddy decides he’s waited quite long enough for his walk and walks in, cheerfully carrying his lead in his mouth. 

“Shall we go to that wood and see if the pigs are there?” Sirius asks (Paddy loves the pigs, and Sirius loves them even more).

Remus nods and looks at him softly. “Yes,” he says. And then: “I hope you know, you’re just the best thing. I’m sorry your family are shit, but I love you so much.”

\--

“Are you ready?” Remus swings around the doorframe and jolts Sirius out of his phone-based trance. 

“Yes. Yeah, sorry. I fell down the Buzzfeed black hole. But it’s fine - I’m out now. Unless you want to know which Disney prince is your soulmate based on your fast food preferences?” 

Remus huffs a laugh. “I think I’m okay.” 

“Well that’s all to the good, I’d say. Mine was Prince Eric, which is absolute dross. He’s dull as dishwater. I was hoping for Aladdin. Or the Beast.”

“Didn’t have you pegged for a furry.” 

“Well then, my lovely wolf. You’ve obviously been walking around with your eyes half closed. Because the Beast is hot. And then he goes and turns back to that boring human man, and it disappoints me every single time. I think Belle was a little bit disappointed, too. You can see it in her eyes.” 

Remus stands in the doorway, towering over Sirius whose legs are propped up on the sofa. He looks fondly exasperated, wrapped up in his teal trench coat and the scarf Sirius bought him, ready to leave. He turns and walks back into the hall, coming back seconds later with Sirius’s coat and his favourite bobble hat, handing them to him with warm, gentle hands.

They walk to the pub hand in hand, ready to find out for sure whether the rumours that Peter has managed to rustle up a lady human to bring with him are true. Sirius hopes so, after the outright failure of Mission Big Pete Lady Meet, and every subsequent attempt to set him up with a potential suitor. 

“If he has, it’s a Christmas miracle,” Sirius opines as they walk past a gaggle of drunkards huddled on a street corner. “If he’s managed to pull it off at the very last minute, he will forever have my respect.” 

“And if not?” 

“Then he is to face the ultimate forfeit. Rules are rules, Lupin.” He looks at Remus’s expression of pity and fights down a wave of guilt. “Hey, don’t look at me like that; like we bully him. Nobody forced him to agree to the wager.” 

\--

Luckily, Peter has indeed brought a woman, Grace, with whom he is evidently pretty enamoured. She’s attractive, in an unthreatening sort of way, and he keeps looking at her like she’s his very own Aphrodite. 

It’s nice. 

And so it is that they have somehow all paired off: found people to tolerate the very worst of their flaws, who don’t think them hideous, who know what they are and like them anyway. It’s the first time it’s happened that Sirius can recall, and he’s disproportionately proud of them, all in all (though secretly a teeny tiny bit disappointed that nobody has to shoulder the burden of stripping off in the street). 

Marlene is loosely holding Dorcas’s hand, but it doesn’t stop her from wildly gesticulating as she launches into a slightly tipsy diatribe bemoaning the gender conditioning thrust upon her and her fellow women as children. 

“I’m just saying. While my darling brother got to play with Meccano and Scalextric and Lego, learning how to construct and engineer, learning how things work, I had Polly Pockets and dolls. And all I fucking learnt was how to make Barbie and Sindy go down on each other while speeding along in the remote control dream car. It explains a lot, actually, on reflection. Maybe I should tell my mum that it’s all her fault.” 

“Do you think it happens that early?” Sirius asks. “I mean, I didn’t have any toys at all, really. Do you think if I had, I’d have a Nobel prize by now?” 

“Indubitably,” Marlene nods. “In my old age, I feel like I’ve rebelled. I made a special trip into town the other day just to look at a great big crane. And every time I see a tractor, I just think it’s the best thing ever.” 

“She does,” Dorcas nods. “Especially if there’s something spiky attached. Luckily, I find it a bit charming?”

“Never let her go,” Sirius says sagely to Marlene. “Shall I make a toast, in the age old tradition?” 

He’s greeted with encouraging nods and murmurs. 

“Right,” he clears his throat. “‘Tis Christmas eve. T’we are all here. We’ve got the babes,” he gestures around the group, “We’ve got the beer. Life is banging, heaven knows, and Pete’s allowed to keep his clothes.” 

Everyone laughs and clinks their glasses. Remus pulls him into his side, a happy flush on his cheeks. “This is great,” he says quietly. “A darn sight better than last year.” 

\--

Sirius wakes up to a cup of coffee on the bedside table and Remus sitting up beside him, reading a book. He sees Remus’s smile, almost in slow motion, filling his cheeks with dimples, and he finds himself smiling too. 

“Merry Christmas, Sirius.” 

“Mmmm,” Sirius stretches. “Merry Christmas, you fittie.” 

“I thought we’d go with the posh coffee,” Remus explains. “Special occasion and that.” 

Sirius sticks his nose in the cup and breathes it in. “Mmm. Is there any better smell in the morning?” 

Sirius has made Paddy a stocking full of toys and treats and practical things like poo bags. Paddy unwraps each present with gusto, and a certain lack of finesse while Remus stands by and takes photos, watching the whole thing with a soft smile. 

“What did you do last Christmas?” he asks him as Paddy latches onto a pig’s ear, freshly freed from its paper wrapping. 

“Went to the Potters’. You?” 

“I spent it with Mum and Barry. Mum and I did the lunch together while Barry sat in his chair, going on about immigration or some trollope. It was quite nice in the end, mostly because the amount of time we all spent in a room together was kept to the barest minimum and I made the Best. Gravy. Ever.”

The doorbell rings and Sirius looks at Remus, perplexed. “Who is that?” 

Remus shoots him a mischievous look. “Let’s find out.” 

They open the door to James, standing in the cold and grinning, glasses steaming up as the heat of the house hits them. “Mulled wine,” he says. “Stat. I’m freezing my bollocks off.” 

Sirius looks between James, still on the doorstep, and Remus, standing behind him with a knowing look on his face. “Why do I get the feeling that there is some scheming going on here?” 

James shrugs. “You’re such a suspicious Sally. Come on, get me some booze before I lose a ball to frostbite.”

“Where is Lily?” Sirius asks, stepping aside to let him in. 

“She’s seeing her parents and Petunia this morning, then we’re going to my folks’ for lunch.” 

“Right, okay. Jimmy, don’t take this the wrong way, because you are, of course, always a welcome guest in Remus’s home...” 

“Our home,” Remus interjects out of habit. 

“But I was wondering, dear Jimmy, whether it’s time to disclose the purpose of your visit.” 

“Ah,” James winks. “I come bearing gifts.” 

Remus glances at Sirius and smiles sheepishly. “I couldn’t store it in the house because you would have seen it. So I called in a favour.” 

James and Remus make Sirius sit down while they go outside. There’s a great deal of clattering and swearing, but eventually they reemerge with a box that runs the length of the lounge.

Sirius struggles to take it in. “Wow. What am I meant to do with this bad boy?”

“Open it,” Remus says softly. 

Sirius laughs, looking between them. 

“Sorry I couldn’t wrap it up.” Remus scratches the back of his neck. “It’s a bit on the big side.” 

“I think the fact that you have, presumably, hired a van and roped in James to deliver it more than makes up for the lack of wrapping. And Marlene would say that wrapping paper only ends up in landfill anyway.” 

He tries to open the box but it’s securely taped, and in the end, they need to involve a craft knife to get it open. 

It’s a black, Yamaha piano, and Sirius looks at it for half a second before he bursts into tears. The strength of his reaction has Remus making a worried face, and he’s glad it’s only the two of them there to witness his waterworks. 

“You bought me a piano,” he says snottily, stroking the sides of it and inspecting the pristine keys. “I love it. Oh, I _love_ it. Sorry for being a sap.”

Remus rocks back and forth on his feet. “Look, let’s be clear here. This is really a present for both of us because listening to you playing piano gives me--” 

“The horn,” Sirius nods wisely, sniffing a little. 

“I was going to say goose bumps.” 

“The bumpy horn,” James interjects, grinning. “Right, I think my work here is done, chaps. Glad tidings to you, my lovely ho ho hoes.” He kisses them both on the cheek and takes his leave while Sirius is still wiping uselessly at his face with the sleeve of his jumper. 

“I have a present for you, too, but you have to come down the garden with me.” 

“It’s a bit cold for al fresco blowjobs.” 

“You should be so lucky! Also, it’s never too cold for al fresco blow jobs, for future reference. Come on, get your wellies on.” 

They trundle down the garden together and Sirius steers him towards the potting shed. “I had to put it in here,” he explains. “Because it’s the only place I figured you wouldn’t look. And it’s a little difficult to hide.” He opens the door, grinning, to reveal a beautifully crafted sailing dinghy, freshly varnished and ready for its maiden voyage. 

“Now I know it’s not a canal boat. And I’m not sure you’ll get your crazy good boat sex in here. Might be logistically tricky.”

Remus is smiling from ear to ear. “I think that shows a distinct lack of ambition on your part.” He breathes out slowly. “Oh, Sirius, it’s brilliant! How on earth did you sneak this down here?” 

“I had to take the day off work, _and_ convince the boat bloke that the delivery fee included a trek down the muddy garden.”

“When do you think we’ll be able to get out on it?” Remus asks, eyes running over it in disbelief. 

“March, maybe? If we’re lucky. Maybe I should have got it for your birthday instead, but I have it on good authority that spring will come again one day, so we’ll just have to wait.” 

Remus nods, visibly touched. “We might have to get each other smaller presents next year. This is quite a small house.”

“Yeah, I’m not sure where we’ll put it. I’ll look into getting it stored for us over the winter so it’s out of the way.” 

Remus looks at him and presses soft lips to Sirius’s. “You’re brilliant. We’re going to have lessons and I’ll get you a life jacket because I know what you’re like.” 

“We can get one for Paddy, too. Reckon he’ll have good sea legs?” 

“Not at all.” 

“No, I suspect you’re right. But you’re a good swimmer, yes?” 

“Proficient, I’d say.” 

“It’ll have to do,” Sirius says gravely. “It’ll have to do, Re.”


	16. Chapter 16

Sirius sits at the breakfast bar resting his chin on his hands and waiting for his tea to cool. “Nothing’s _wrong_ , I’m just saying that you could have opted to hire a vet who doesn’t bear such a striking resemblance to Henry Cavill.”

Remus glances over at him and bites his lip, visibly straining not to laugh. “He looks nothing like Henry Cavill. Also, he’s married with a child, which I think we should take into consideration before we decide how jealous we’re going to get.”

“I’m not jealous,” Sirius huffs. “I just think it’s impressive that you’ve managed to find the one male vet who could moonlight as an underwear model. Do we know that he’s married to a lady? I think I’d take comfort to know he was married to a lady.” 

“He’s the best one,” Remus reasons, ignoring the question. “The most qualified, the most aligned with my values, the one who demonstrated the highest level of competency at the interview. You were there. Do you honestly want me to hire one of the others?” 

“No”, Sirius grumbles, thinking covertly that Remus hiring one of the others is exactly what he wants. “But that’s because I’m altogether too reasonable and trusting.”

“Those probably aren’t the first two descriptors that spring to mind when I think about you.” He walks over and runs his fingers over the sore muscles in Sirius’s neck. 

“Regardless, I very much want the business to succeed. So it’s fine. But you just need to keep your skillful hands to yourself, please. No hanky panky.” 

Remus kneads his thumb into a knot. “Deal. Now stop pouting. You know I find it sexy and we’ve only got half an hour until everyone arrives.” 

“Do you think we got enough cheese?” Sirius reluctantly extracts himself and opens the fridge door, inspecting the well-stocked shelves critically. 

“I think we have enough cheese to feed the whole street,” Remus assures him. “And a veritable vat of wine.” He stands right behind him and nuzzles his neck. “Are you nervous?” 

“No.” He shakes his head. “Although, on reflection, I’m not sure if Andromeda knows that you’re my... you know, sex buddy, life partner, tasty piece of ass. Maybe I should have been clearer on that front. It might come as a bit of a shock.” 

“And Regulus?” 

“Oh, he knows. He’s the one who convinced me to confess my undying love for you when you were still with Hugo.” 

Remus’s face twitches ambiguously. “Remind me to thank him?” 

Sirius showers, and as he’s getting dressed, the doorbell rings. At this point, he does start to feel rather tense, but luckily it’s just Lily and James who come barrelling over the threshold, greeted with gusto by Paddy who looks like he would stand on top of Lily’s shoulders if he could. 

“I miss you,” she admits, fussing him playfully. “Oh, I miss you. My house smells far too fragrant now. And the grass is beginning to grow back now you’re not there to dig it all up. It’s all very tidy and boring.” 

“He misses you too, Lily. Talks about you all the time,” Remus says dryly. “Oh wait, you were talking about the dog?”

“Ha. Ha.” Sirius spanks him lightly and takes a big swig of wine. 

The doorbell goes again and it’s Regulus, who has brought his unfathomably attractive girlfriend and a bottle of Château Pétrus which probably cost more than Sirius has earned in commission for the length of his career. 

“Hi, Reggie. And you must be Cassandra! Welcome, come in, come in. Reg, you know James, and Lily. And this is my boyfriend Remus.” He coaxes Remus forward; Remus who does that thing where he knows exactly what to do and say. 

“I’ll take your coats,” Remus smiles easily, and helps them to de-vest. “Lovely to meet you. Was the journey okay?” 

“It was rather nice, actually,” Regulus nods affably. “We took the train. And we’re staying in a hotel not too far away. Such a novelty to get out of London, you know?” 

Remus smiles and says something inoffensive about London’s unrivalled arts scene, handing out glasses of red wine that is somewhat less expensive (though still fairly decent) than the stuff Regulus has brought. “What do you do, Cassandra?” 

“I’m a medical student.” She flicks her glossy brown hair over her shoulder and Sirius silently applauds his brother on a job well done with a tiny quirk of his eyebrow. 

“Remus is a vet,” Sirius says proudly. “So you can both talk about... I don’t know, papilloma viruses and ringworm.” 

She laughs musically, and Sirius thinks she might be far too good for his grumpy little brother. “Ever had ringworm, Remus?” she asks with a wicked grin.

“Only the once,” Remus supplies. “During a particularly difficult winter where I was moonlighting in a cat shelter and it felt like every other patient of mine had some sort of fungal affliction.”

“Lovely,” Sirius grins, clapping his hands together. “Shall we relocate to the kitchen, then?”

Much later in the evening, Andromeda grabs Sirius jerkily by the neck and brings him in for a quick peck on the cheek. She smells like lemons. “You look so well,” she says genuinely. “What are you on and can I have some?”

Sirius smiles sheepishly. “Well. You’re probably well aware of this already, because you’re a very astute lady, but I’m very much in love.” 

She surveys him fondly, intensely. “Oh, I see. With Remus?” 

“Yes.” 

“And he loves you back?” 

“Yes.” 

“Does he treat you well?” 

“Very much so.”

She looks around appraisingly. “Do you live here?” 

He sighs, fidgeting on the spot. “Yes.” 

She reels backwards like a coiled serpent, and for a split second, she is chillingly terrifying. Her curled lip looks altogether too much like his mother’s and he can’t help but cower. “Well why the fuck didn’t you tell me? You didn’t think I was going to go full Walburga on your ass did you?” 

He rediscovers his breath and fixes her with a plain look. “Not quite. But... well, you know. It’s not always easy for people to get their heads around, is it? The whole gay sex thing.” 

“No,” she agrees. “But that’s not even slightly your problem.” She spots Ted on the other side of the room and beckons him over. He grabs a veritable fistful of cheese enroute and stands between them. “Did you know that this one here has secretly been in a relationship for...” she looks to Sirius for help. 

“About ten months.” 

“About ten months,” she repeats, shaking her head like a school teacher. “With the lovely man who was just talking to you about the best kind of grit to feed your chickens, no less.” 

“Well I’ll be...” Ted’s chest puffs out and he slaps Sirius on the back heartily. A drop of red wine sloshes over his glass and onto his white canvas trainer, but he can’t muster any anger about it. “Good for you, Sirius. Bloody good for you.” 

It’s not often that Sirius is short of words, but this overt acceptance of Remus, of their situation, from the only family members he can abide, renders him close to speechless. He catches Remus’s eye, and they just look at each other for a fraction of a second before resuming their separate conversations on opposite sides of the room. 

“Thank you, Ted,” he manages eventually. “Thank you. That means an awful lot.” 

\--

Sirius has no idea what’s happening. It’s seven AM on the second anniversary of the day they first met, and Remus has taken it upon himself to orchestrate some sort of surprise. 

Sirius hates surprises. The nice ones (like the piano) overwhelm him, and the nasty ones knock the legs out from underneath him. But Remus assures him that he will like this one. He has packed him a bag, left his passport on the bed, and has told him which week to take off work. So they’re either off on holiday, or Remus is shipping him off to rehab somewhere scenic. He very much hopes it’s the former. 

He sits himself down in the kitchen and nibbles on a crumpet with Marmite and lashings of butter while he awaits further instructions. Paddy is staying with his aunty Lily (just in time to dig up her azaleas afresh) and Edna has taken herself off in protest at their packing, like she knows that the neighbour is going to be feeding her for the next seven days and she won’t have Sirius’s toasty thighs to curl up on at night.

His phone buzzes to show a text from Remus which just says _‘Whose feast is today?’_

Sirius fizzes with excitement. He has no bloody fucking clue what the text means but he’s more than willing to get on board. “Whose feast,” he hums. “Oh Remus, you tantalising, leggy weirdo. What on earth do you mean, whose feast?” 

The only feast he knows is the feast of Stephen, from that Christmas song that they used to sing in assembly, or in the dreaded annual carol service when Sirius was always forced to play Joseph over James because their ridiculous teacher insisted that Joseph wasn’t Indian (even though he definitely wasn’t very white either). 

_Good King Wenceslas looked out on the Feast of Stephen._

He realises with a jolt that a feast day is the same as a saint’s day. And today is St Patrick’s day. Duh. 

He smugly responds. _‘Why, sir. ‘Tis the feast of St Patrick.’_

Another text fills the screen straight away. _‘Go to the place where his namesake hit the jackpot.’_

Well, that’s easier. St Patrick’s namesake is Paddy, and presumably, he hit the jackpot when Sirius discovered him, a soggy, flea-ridden sack of skin and bones. He jumps in the car and drives, slightly too quickly, towards the brewery. 

Now presumably, Sirius reasons, Remus has no idea exactly where he discovered Paddy, so he walks straight into the office, where Agatha is primed, grinning knowingly. 

“Hello, Studmuffin,” she says, handing him a post-it shaped like a star. 

“Hi there, my love.” He snatches the post-it somewhat greedily and drinks in the words written in Remus’s hasty scrawl. 

_‘You once told me that you were in love with me while I was at work. It was highly inappropriate and I’m only just getting over the embarrassment. Your next clue lies with the sullen receptionist there.’_

He makes it to the vets’ in good time, and Mandy looks distinctly unimpressed as she hands him a piece of paper fresh from the fax machine. 

_'Go to the place where I first saw you naked. (I tried to make this one clever, but I got distracted at the memory and inconvenient arousal ensued. Wait, I’ll try now. ‘Twas twilight on this magic night, I cooked you fish, your jeans got tight. You sat upon a breakfast stool and looked so cute, I lost my cool. We kissed until we could no more, and then, by luck, your bum I saw. Don’t get me started on those thighs. Go to our room where your next clue lies.)’_

He laughs, shaking his head, and hops back into the car, back to the place that is now his home. He lets himself in, smiling softly and registering the lack of greeting from the absent Paddy. He bounds up the stairs, two at a time, to the place where they first shed their clothes together, and wonders how he missed the great big envelope propped up on the chest of drawers. 

He tears it open.

_‘Just one more clue to follow this one. Find it in the first place we went together that wasn’t full of four-legged creatures and worming medication.’_

He finds his way to the wine bar and a woman with a severe bob hands him a saucer of fizzy wine, together with a piece of thick parchment. He takes a sip and reads. 

_‘In your hand, you hold a glass of the finest sparkling wine I’ve ever had. Work out its provenance, and you’ll know our destination.’_  
Sirius thinks back to their first time in this bar. They’ve been back plenty of times since, and Sirius has long abandoned all pretence of knowing anything about wine. Remus has tried to teach him about bouquets, about berry notes, vintages, and tannins, but it still all tastes like wine to him, and he likes wine just fine. 

He takes a sip of the bubbly and tries his best to work out whether it might be cava, prosecco, or champagne. He thinks about how sweet it is, how fruity, how it might have fermented. But all he manages to think is that it tastes particularly nice. 

He looks at the woman searchingly. “Can I have a hint?” 

“Sorry,” she smiles ruefully. “I’m under strict instructions.” 

He nods. “But of course.” 

He returns to that first time he set foot here, and he remembers, clear as day, the first bottle Remus bought for the two of them. It was Italian; Sicilian, from the slopes of Etna, and he can almost hear Remus waxing lyrical about the mineral profile of the volcanic soil. The moment of realisation comes slowly, but he can still taste the sweet tang of that very first sip of wine on his tongue when he fixes his glance on the wine lady. 

“Sicily,” he says, satisfied. “It’s Sicily. We’re going to Sicily.” 

“Bravo.” She takes his glass and smiles sincerely. “Now, drink up. I’m meant to tell you that your carriage awaits.” 

His carriage, it transpires, is an Uber, but in a real turn up for the books, Remus is in it, wearing a white shirt and looking pointedly at his watch. “You took your time,” he says in a low voice. 

“In my defence, you are the brainy one. This whole operation falls apart without you. We already knew that.” 

Remus chuckles deeply. “So you figured it out, then?” 

“Sicily,” Sirius grins. “Which is very bold of you because you know I will insist on speaking bad Italian the whole time we’re there.” 

“I do know,” Remus nods. “And after careful consideration, I decided it was worth it. I’m just pleased we could squeeze in a little break before things get really manic with the practice.”

“And me. I can’t believe I finally get a holiday with you. Did you pack my swimming trunks with the gargoyles on?”

“Yes. But I’ve got to admit that I did it with some trepidation. They’re a bit creepy.”

“Super creepy,” he affirms. “I got them imported from Sweden. They’re inappropriately tight, though, so you’ll like them well enough.” 

“Every cloud,” Remus quips. 

Sirius walks his hand across the seat to tangle with Remus’s. “Ciao bello,” he says dramatically. “Mi chiamo Sirius. Andiamo in Sicilia. Ho sedici anni.” He winks. “Can you tell I did GCSE Italian? It’s all coming back to me! Oh, I have a good feeling about this. I think the Italian people will embrace me as one of their own.” 

“Did you just say you were sixteen years old?” 

“Si.” 

“Is that because you don’t know how to say that you are twenty-seven?” 

“Si.” 

“And how old am I in Italian?” Remus’s mouth twitches up at the side: he’s all mischief and laughter, and Sirius loves it. 

Sirius wrinkles his mouth up and searches the deepest recesses of his mind. “Mi chiamo Sirius. Andiamo in Sicilia. Ho sedici anni.” 

Remus laughs loudly. “I’m sure we’ll be just fine.” 

\--

“Is this a good time to let you know that I get travel sick?” Sirius asks, already feeling a little green around the gills as they make their way around winding roads in a gigantic 4x4 driven by a German volcanologist named Boris with a shock of white hair and steel toe-capped boots. 

Remus has done extensive research and insists that this private tour is the best way to explore Mount Etna; with off-road capabilities and guided by one of the foremost experts in his field. 

Straight away, it’s clear that it’s the right choice. German Boris drives them through the town of Mascali and explains in vivid detail how the town was slowly engulfed by lava flows in the eruption of 1928. 

“It was the height of fascism,” Boris says, gesturing around wildly while supposedly in control of the vehicle. “And when the town had to be rebuilt, it was done so swiftly, efficiently, and in the style typical of the Mussolini era. If you look to your left, you will see that the church is adorned with a large torch, which is a striking emblem of fascism. Note how it sits above the statue of Christ.” He then goes on a fifteen minute tirade about how in his native Germany, all relics of the Nazi era have been destroyed, of the collective shame shared by Germans that such atrocities could have been committed on their soil. “In Italy, on the other hand, there is a pervading view that to erase all signs that a dictatorship occurred is to sugar-coat the past. And there is no hurry to tear them down at all.” 

It is interesting, actually, and not something Sirius has ever considered in depth. He looks on as a man sits on a wall and slurps on his chocolate gelato, right opposite the stark reminder of a shameful past. 

From there, they start to climb. And if Sirius had thought that the streets were small and winding before, they were nothing compared to the tracks they traverse as the altitude increases. 

“These are not one-way, either,” Boris explains when Sirius remarks on the roads. “So when you meet someone coming the other way, things get a little tricky.” 

They come to a tiny chapel and Boris pulls to a stop, gesturing for them to alight. The three of them walk up to the church and peer inside.

“This is the church of Magazzeni. When Etna erupted in 1928, lava flows ran down the eastern flank of the volcano, heading straight for this church, and in turn for the village of Sant’Alfio. The people of the village were desperate. They knew that their town was heading for certain ruin. And so, they came up here to the church. And in a moment of blind, ridiculous faith, they took the statues of their saints and they prayed.” 

He pauses here for dramatic effect, looking between them with electric blue eyes. 

“The rivers of lava mysteriously changed course, narrowly missing the village altogether. Of course, the villagers put this down to a miracle; the miracle of Magazzeni. The church, which had been on the outs, became a shrine, and here it stands today; a tribute to those very same saints that saved the village from harm.” 

“What really happened?” Remus asks, enraptured. 

Boris shrugs. “I could tell you, but it would ruin the magic.” 

They get back in the car and Sirius steels himself, preparing himself for more twists and turns and for the continual bouncing up and down of the cronky suspension. Luckily, uncharacteristically, Remus is doing all the talking, sitting beside Boris in the front seat and asking him about tectonic plates, while Sirius sits behind them, injecting all his efforts into keeping his breakfast down. 

Boris, in anyone’s book, is an insane driver. And Sirius suspects that would be the case even if they were driving on proper roads. There are hairpin bends aplenty. Boris throws the car around them, and instead of slowing down, he just beeps the horn and hopes for the best. 

Things are getting really mountainous now, and the vistas are already incredible. They stop to watch a fresh plume of smoke at Etna’s explosive summit, still some way away. “Impressive, isn’t she? We call her Mama Etna. She is the mother that feeds us, gives us our livelihood, but she cannot be controlled, nor can we predict when she might erupt.” 

“Sounds like a real Walburga,” Sirius chirps. “Apart from the nurturing.”

Boris, unperturbed, marches on with his speech. “We monitor seismic activity continuously. But still, the biggest eruptions can creep up on us, unannounced. And for those of us who live on the volcano, there is the constant threat that there could be a huge flank collapse, engulfing us all in an unstoppable inferno.” He nods, seemingly satisfied that he has served up suitable drama on a plate. “Now then, we’re not too far from a little mountain lodge where we can get some tea and cake. Brandy, too, if you’re feeling a little chilly.” 

They echo Boris’s enthusiasm and spend an hour recharging in a wooden shack with one toilet and views so incredible that Sirius is lost for words. 

“Cool, hmm?” Remus asks, knocking their shoulders together as they take in the panorama, leaning on a railing that prevents them from plummeting to their death. 

“So cool,” Sirius breathes. “And just how does one retrain as a volcanologist? I’m asking for a friend.” 

“Lots of graft,” Remus laughs, wrapping a hand around his waist and squeezing gently. 

“Oh. Well then, I’m out. We’ll have to think of something else. Maybe I’ll be a vet. I’ve heard that’s a piece of piss.” 

“You’re very full of it for someone who still thinks that Natalie Imbruglia’s ‘Torn’ is the best song of all time.”

“Some things last forever,” Sirius explains haughtily. “Like microplastics and my love for Celine Dion.” 

Remus laughs, in spite of himself. “You know,” he says slowly. “On the subject of vocations, I’ve been watching you with Paddy. And I think you have this knack of getting him to do things, like he understands you on another plane. Would you consider setting up as a dog trainer? You could do it part time for a while, evenings and weekends, see if it’s a viable business. I’d recommend you to clients with puppies. I think you’d be good at it.” 

Sirius looks at him, wide-eyed. “But I thought people were supposed to hate their jobs? Aren’t people supposed to hate their jobs? That sounds like it wouldn’t feel like work at all!”

\--

Remus has booked a couples massage for the two of them. It’s the sort of thing he probably hates, but Sirius loves a good pamper session, so Remus has selflessly fallen on his sword. 

It’s all going well. They arrive in plenty of time, and two severe blonde ladies greet them and lead them to a room full of candles, with two massage beds. They instruct them to remove their clothes but keep their pants on, and they leave the room so that they may preserve their dignity. It’s at this point that Sirius realises he isn’t wearing any pants, only his begargoyled swimming trunks. He pokes his head around the door and explains his predicament to the severe lady with glasses. She nods, understanding despite the language barrier and disappears for a moment, coming back with what suspiciously looks like a paper thong. She smirks as she hands it over and he slinks back into the room to put it on. 

Remus spends the first five minutes of their massage laughing uncontrollably. It sort of ruins the mood. 

When they get back to their hotel room, all oily and relaxed, Remus gets Sirius to put the thong back on, and it features as part of an elaborate striptease that leads to them spending the next hour in bed and culminates in Sirius showcasing his impressive ability to climax a bunch of times in quick succession; a trait that Remus insists is one of his most appealing. 

They eat at the hotel that night. Sirius has eaten so many arancini that he suspects he may no longer be able to do his trousers up by the end of the week. He sips at an Aperol spritz and stares at Remus, whose face is lit only by the candle that flickers between them on the table. Remus stares right back at him, quiet and pensive. 

“Alright?” Sirius asks, nudging their feet together. “You look a bit thoughtful.” 

“I am thoughtful,” Remus acknowledges. “I was just thinking that I want this forever. Holidays with you. Adventures. Vineyards. Violent volcanic activity, observed from a safe distance.” His brow furrows and he shoots Sirius a look that makes his head swim. “I’ve been thinking a lot lately, actually. Mostly about how much better my life is now you’re in it. About how I’d really like you to be in it forever.”

Sirius’s first thought is that he’s going to propose. But then he realises that’s absurd. He pushes the disappointment deep down into the pit of his stomach.

Remus laughs softly. “And don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re not who I thought I’d end up with. To be honest, I thought I’d meet a nice, quiet sort of chap and that we’d be content in a slightly boring, domestic way. But I didn’t factor you into my plans; didn’t think in my wildest dreams that I’d meet someone so beautiful, so brimming with life, so unbelievably loveable. I didn’t factor in the mind-blowing sex, the giddy midnight chats, that going off to a job I love would become so hard because I have to leave you in my bed every morning.”

Sirius’s throat feels like it’s full of sand. “What’s happening?” 

“I love you, Sirius Black. I love you like I didn’t know myself capable of loving anyone.” He runs a shaky hand through his hair. “And this isn’t one of those ‘we complete each other’ things, because we were both whole before we met. But with you, my life is richer, fuller, altogether more joyful and smiley. And I hope you would say the same.” 

He clears his throat like he’s trying to guide himself back from a tangent. “Now, you know I’m not one for public displays,” he smiles shyly and lifts himself out of his seat, “But as always, I’ll make an exception for you, my all time favourite person.” 

In one decisive movement, he crouches down to lean on one knee and fumbles in the pocket of his blazer. He pulls out a tiny box made from beautiful olive wood. When he opens it, there’s a simple silver band inside and Sirius’s heart threatens to burst clean through his chest. “We have a home together, naughty pets together, and very soon, we’ll be partners in our very own business. It would be the biggest honour of my life if you said yes to being my husband. My darling friend, my life partner,” he cocks his head. “What do you think? Will you marry me?”

When Sirius tells this story to their children, many years from now, he will say that this is the happiest moment of his life. But actually, that’s not quite true. The happiest moment comes later when they fall asleep together under cool sheets and Remus kisses his forehead with lips that are pillow soft, wrapping his arms around him and having a little nibble on his ear. It’s only later that he has time to process how brilliant his life is, how awed he is that someone as remarkable as Remus not only loves him and chooses to spend time with him, but actively wants to do so for a really, really long time. 

But right now, with Remus on one knee, looking up at him like he’s something more dazzling than a chocolate éclair, his brain struggles just slightly to process everything that’s happening. He’s utterly blindsided, thrilled, overwhelmed. There’s a mosquito that buzzes around his head and he feels like he’s bouncing right along with her. 

Time ticks on and Sirius hasn’t given his answer. He realises this as he zooms back in on the moment and clasps a hand to his mouth, nodding. “Yes,” he croaks. “Yes, I bloody will.” 

He stands up and pulls Remus up to meet him, wrapping him in an intense, jubilant hug. Remus huffs out a breath of surprise, then lets his head flop forwards to kiss Sirius’s neck. They manage to collect themselves enough to sit back down and Remus slides the ring onto Sirius’s finger, clutching at his hand. 

The bartender comes over with a bottle of Champagne and two flutes, popping the cork expertly. 

Sirius, grinning, sips at the fizzy wine and looks his future husband in the eye. “I think I like Sicily,” he decides. 

“We’ll come back,” Remus promises. “At a less chaotic time, and for longer.” 

“It’s okay. If we stayed much longer, I’d go up at least three dress sizes. Will you still marry me if I get fat?”

Remus shrugs. “More of you to love.” 

“What about if I got a face tattoo? Or had those weird old man sprouty eyebrows?”

“I would marry you. However, I’d worry a little about your future employment prospects if you got the face tattoo.” 

Sirius pouts. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re probably right. I’ll stay pretty for you, then. And I’ve heard Marlene has a good eyebrow lady, should the need arise.” 

“Lovely,” Remus grins fully. 

“So, are we going to take a leaf from the Potters’ book and elope somewhere exotic? Or do you fancy doing something small in Bristol? All the money’s going to go into the practice for a while, at least, but I’d rather not have one of those engagements that lasts for five years and may or may not ever result in an actual wedding.”

“My preference? Would be a nice, simple affair at the registry office, this summer or next. Then a little party in a village hall or something. Splash all the cash on a good band, then just celebrate with our nearest and dearest. It’ll be modest but good fun.” 

“Honestly? That sounds perfect. I could call in some favours to source good beer. We don’t need flowers because we’re blokes. Bridesmaids, slash groomsmen, slash best bunch of reprobates can wear whatever they feel best in.” 

“Yeah, I can see it,” Remus smiles softly. “And I could always grow a few flowers in the garden to pretty things up a bit.”

Sirius nods to himself. “Dahlias,” he says. “I know they’re deemed a bit showy by those in the know, but I loved the ones you grew last year.”

Remus looks pleased. “I’ll grow you all the fucking dahlias. And a few gladioli. Some gypsophila, maybe.” He looks him dead in the eye. “How do you feel about irises?” 

Sirius laughs through his nose. “Firmly pro.” 

Remus nods, thoughtful once more. “I might have to do some sketches.” He waves a hand between them dismissively. “We’ll work it out.”

\--

Gladys dies in April. It’s not unexpected, given her declining health and the fact that she’s older than the sun. But it’s been a week and Sirius’s heart still jerks around in his chest every time he forgets and then remembers.

The funeral is just the two of them and some distant cousins. Mary doesn’t show up and Sirius doesn’t think Gladys would mind too much. Nor would she be particularly bothered that her funeral is so poorly attended. She was always very proud that she outlasted most of her friends, and those few that remain are too frail to come. It’s a by-product of living to a ripe old age, Sirius supposes, but he makes a mental note to make sure he has some younger people in his life as he ages, wonders whether that’s exactly what Gladys did with him. 

The inheritance comes as a surprise. And it’s a lot. It’s enough that Sirius can quit his job and focus instead on running the practice and setting up his dog training side project, which looks all set to get going with a bang. 

Come May, they are ready to open. Remus has done his last day with the other surgery, and there is nothing else to do but take the plunge. The sign man has just finished with the frontage, and Sirius steps back to admire his work. The letters are huge and looping. ‘Black Dragon Vets’, they read, and beside them, a dragon that Marlene drew for them, breathing swirls of smoke and fire, brought to life on the signage. 

It’s perfect. 

“Do you think the boss will like it?” The sign man asks, small smile tugging at his mouth. 

Remus appears out of nowhere. “Do not be deceived.” He gestures at Sirius. “This one pulls all the strings. But yes, I like it. I like it very much.”

When he leaves, Remus and Sirius head inside and admire all the hard work they’ve put in over the last few months to pull this off. There is polished chrome, pristine cages for the lodgers, posters with guidance on how much to feed your cat, and a staff room with a vending machine. There are signs that they did a lot of it themselves; the paintwork isn’t a professional job, but you’d only be able to tell if you were actively looking for a hint. But it looks like the real deal, and Sirius is proud as punch of everything they’ve achieved. 

“None of this would have been possible without Gladys,” Remus says as they take it all in. 

“No. Not for another ten years, at least. I feel sort of guilty. Like people will think I wormed my way into her life to try and get my paws on some of her cash.” 

“That couldn’t be further from the truth.” 

“No, I know. Until she gave me the egg, I assumed she lived in a little rented bungalow somewhere. She never mentioned any of it, apart from the famous coveted silverware.” 

“Whose judgment do you worry about?” Remus asks, always knowing how to centre Sirius’s thoughts. 

Sirius considers this for a moment. “Just yours, really.” 

“Well, I don’t think that at all. I think that you wanted to atone in some way for your previous wrongdoings, so you signed up to volunteer to help the elderly. And the elderly woman you clicked with just happened to have oodles of money and no real next of kin.” He reaches for his hand. “You didn’t groom her, Sirius, if that’s what you’re worried about. I met her. There’s no doubt she was of sound mind. And I think she was particularly thrilled to be able to leave her wealth to someone other than her greedy sister.” 

“You reckon?” 

“Yes. I think you gave her real, unabated joy in her last couple of years. She loved you. And in turn, I think you loved her back.” 

Sirius breathes in deeply and looks up into Remus’s eyes. “Yeah. I did. She was like my cranky old guardian angel. And if you didn’t dump me, I wouldn’t have met her. So I guess everything happens for a reason.” 

“I’m not sure I dumped you.” 

“Whatever you say.” Sirius laces their fingers together, humming. “Whatever you say.”  
\--

Tomorrow is their opening day. They have three animals booked in and they plan to spend the rest of their opening hours on a sort of open day, promoting the practice and handing out flyers. 

Remus has already managed to poach a few of his regulars, including the famous Dorothy, who has proved that her loyalty lay with him and not with the previous surgery (as if there was ever a doubt). Their first patient is booked in at eight in the morning: a West Highland Terrier called Lawrence with a suspicious lump on his toe. Remus doesn’t like the look of it so he has suggested to the owners that Lawrence undergoes an operation to cut the problematic tissue out. 

Lawrence will lose the toe, but it will probably save his life. 

“This happened to my grandmother,” Sirius explains as they lie in bed together, buzzing with excitement in anticipation of their opening. “She had to have a toe removed. There was some disagreement between medical professionals on whether they should just take the bone out or lop the whole thing off.”

“How would it even work taking just the bone out? Were they just going to leave a flap of skin? It would ruin her flip-flop prospects forever.” 

“I mean, the thought of my grandmother in flip-flops is laughable, but I get your point.” He turns to Remus. “Still feeling good?” 

Remus nods slowly. “Feeling great.”

And that’s all that matters; that, and the sure, sweet assurance of Remus’s hand in his. He breathes in deeply and lets out a little, hysterical laugh. “Good. Let’s do this, Lupin,” he says resolutely, pulling the cord of the light and plunging them into darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To anyone who read this from start to finish, you have my unbridled gratitude. To anyone who commented, even more so. And if you were one of the select few who took time out of your day after the publication of every chapter to let me know what you thought, you are truly fantastic and it means the world! I'm going to miss our little weekly chats.
> 
> I'm going to do a little palate-cleanser one-shot after this while I think up some new ideas. Watch this space! 
> 
> I sometimes lurk on [Tumblr](https://wolfstarting.tumblr.com/) (but am a very lazy lurker so don't go there for exciting content and whatnot). Come and lurk with me, if that's your bag, and feel free to give me some prompts (please!?)


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